


The Wedding March

by Moraven



Category: Abraham Van Brunt - Fandom, Headless Horsemen, Horsemen of the Apocolypse, Ichabod Crane - Fandom, Ichatrina - Fandom, Katrina Van tassel - Fandom, Katrina and Ichabod, Sleepy Hollow, Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: 1770's era, F/M, Gen, Romance, Sisters of the Blood Moon, Sisters of the Radiant Heart, Supernatural Elements, Wedding Day, Witch Trials, timetravel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-26
Updated: 2016-08-17
Packaged: 2018-05-09 13:35:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 23,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5541908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moraven/pseuds/Moraven





	1. Chapter 1

The dress was exquisite, it sat upon her body as if it welcomed her. Its white satin folds caressed her figure, following her curves and its purity gorgeously accented her ivory skin. The gowns halter neck was adorned with soft miniature crystal flowers and all along the seams was finished with delicate lace to match her long veil. More lace patterned the beaded bodice and the skirt, light in weight, flowed around her in elegant waves with each step she took. Her crimson hair hung perfectly, gentle layered curls framed her face. She finished it with a simple plait which ran from the front to adjoin the thick, high bun that waved out like petals on a rose, where nestled the small, white Lily of the valley flowers, making the tiara, delicately crowned on her head. Yes, she looked radiant.

She was to be married today. Her life was about to change. Today. She dreamt this day since her childhood, at least, before her childhood became little but strange visions and demon that plagued her young life since. A dark cloud that was ever present in the lightless corner of her soul and fed fear and doubt into every beat of her heart. Even this special day, she could not escape that cage of anxiety. The mirror on the vanity by which she sat revealed a young bride, her features delicate, glowing, her bow lips curved into a half smile….and yet beyond, in the wide green of her eyes was betrayed her inner emotions. Katrina had done well to hide her unease in front of the housekeeper and maid that had helped her dress. At least she believed if they had thought anything, it was that a young bride was to marry without any family or any friends present. If they were in a mood to gossip, they had not done so while helping her to dress. Though she fancied she did catch a look passing between them, here and there.

But now she was alone and the cage rattled further more demanding to be let open. Katrina closed her eyes and took a deep breath. As an orchestra firing the mind with a tirade of notes, the sweet scent of floras invaded, alighting the senses like the kiss of the early morning sun. Katrina turned to look around. The chambermaids had filled the room with freshly cut _Rhododendrons_. Flowers covered her bed, the table, by the fireplace. Blossoms even hung above her vanity mirror. The roses must have bloomed with the sunrise. Katrina hadn’t noticed any flowers growing when they had arrived late last evening. But then she wouldn’t have noticed how many horses had been pulling their carriage. Knowing her nuptials was going to offend many people…. many dangerous people had consumed her mind throughout the journey to the Inn. But her beloved Ichabod was unaware of the secret she kept between them. Unconscious as he was on how much she tried to protect him. Katrina imagined him rousing early to stroll the gardens, choosing which roses to pick by his usual scrutiny that she found so endearing. She imagined him enquiring, bashfully, to the chambermaids… ‘if they would be kind enough to place roses in his young bride’s room before she awoke. A beautiful sight to ease her nerves.’ Full of love and hope for their future. Placing a hand on her stomach to calm the fluttering emotions, Katrina caught her breath. Thinking of her Ichabod had more power to bind the cage and throw it the furthest reach of her mind than any spell or potion she could conjure. Evidence of his love adorned her room with beauteous and serene white blooms. It was in his look, his embrace… his kiss. With a new found determination Katrina looked at her reflection again. Her smile had widened, her eyes afire with anticipation. She is going to marry Ichabod Crane. An intelligent, kind and honourable man…. The one she loved with all her heart and soul. Let the rest come tomorrow. They will face it together as one.


	2. Chapter 2

There was a knock on the door. Dear heavens… was it time already. Katrina stood gathering herself and her bridal bouquet garnished with roses, feathers and pearls. She almost sang as she asked for the caller to “Come in.”

The young chambermaid entered to say that the ‘miss had a visitor’ but before she could name them a tall regal looking women, dressed in black, brushed past her with such as air of cold authority to rattle the servant girl into silence. “That will be all...” said the sinister women all the while never taking her impassive gaze off Katrina. The young servant braved a quick glance at her mistress, who she noted had gone very pale and still as if under a trance, before closing the door behind her.

The room had gone very quiet. The sun beaming through the high-rise windows could not thaw the chill which had suddenly assaulted Katrina’s veins.

“ _Moeder…”_ It came out as a whisper but the action had helped Katrina to take air into her starved lungs.

“Katrina” she said “I wish I could say this was a pleasant call.”

“But you came _Meoder_. Despite the reason I shall always deem it as a blessing.” The fear that Katrina had successfully pushed back had begun to seep forward again. This time assisted in melting the chill from her veins. Releasing the invisible hold over her that fear placed to speak.

She looked upon the High Priestess, the Leader of her Coven. She had an ethereal grace that was breath-taking. Her pale, flawless skin seemed to almost glow with the light, her hair was the colour of raven's wings and usually cascaded like a waterfall down her back, reaching almost to her waist but at this moment was pulled up in an elegant style of knots and her eyes were pools of silver light. To look into those eyes was to teeter on the brink of an abyss. When she fixed that steel grey gaze upon her prey, they knew they were in danger of falling. They resisted… there was a danger about her that was unmistakeable but sooner or later, they all succumbed. Her magnetism was irresistible, and all were weak in the face of it. Including her disciples, of which Katrina was one. To the world she was Lady Elinor Blythe, worldly educated, wealthy and superior. To the Sisterhood of the Radiant Heart she was simply ‘ _Meoder_ ’… powerful, benevolent yet ruthless and deadly when opposed. Katrina was aware that sooner or later this meeting would happen. She was just shaken that it was happening now.

Lady Elinor moved with purpose to sit by the window seat, turning slightly to face Katrina. She indicated for Katrina to do the same. Then stared at her as mentor would to her pupil.

“Katrina you are a very talented and dedicated young women. We fight an endless war and you have proved your worth time and time again. You aid the powerful, help the sick, formed a very profitable connection, but most of all you discovered our greatest weapon. Appointed by heaven against the dark beasts. I… was very proud of you.” The slight pause fanned Katrina’s unease. “So can you imagine my surprise to hear that… not only had you broken that profitable alliance. But that you were soon to tie yourself to our… appointed asset.”

The term used to describe the man she loved was not lost on Katrina and had its desired affect just as Lady Elinor had hoped. This was now Katrina’s opportunity to speak her heart.

“Dear _Meoder_ , I am remorseful to have caused you to lose faith in me. I have much to be grateful to you.” Katrina dared to look earnestly into her eyes. “You found me, accepted me, schooled me…. I am pledged to you. I… I would never turn away from…”

“Spare me your lament…” Lady Elinor said abruptly.

Katrina could feel the bite in her words. They made her eyes stink, threatening tears. Her small hands gripped the bridal bouquet tighter, bracing herself for more censure to come.

“Let us speak plainly” Lady Elinor continued, “Let us try and bring back some order to this mess you have created.”

“Mess...” Tears were beginning to form.

“Yes… mess, disorder, chaos! You cannot marry Ichabod Crane. This marriage brings nothing. No power, no connections and certainly no wealth.

“It brings me love.”

Lady Elinor looked exasperate. “Oh don’t speak like a foolish child, Katrina. I give you credit for having intelligence… So use it. What would love accomplish but a momentary glee. What of the future?”

“The future will be what Ichabod and I will make of it together. We… We will stand together, fight this war as one and build our little world within it.”

There was much conviction in Katrina’s plea. For she could see the future she and Ichabod would have. Yes, there will be battles but they will be in the fields. Ichabod would do his duty as a soldier while she will play her role tending to the wounded. But they will build a little home filled with laughter, rapture and so much love. It was a future Katrina was willing to fight for. Her thoughts must have transferred in her face. Enough so to make Lady Elinor stand with diligence and move towards the bed. A perfectly manicured hand reached out to touch the blossoms by the pillow. Katrina felt a sting of jealously at this invasion. She stood up, even though her company towered over her in height. She needed what little advantage she had.

Still examining the dainty bud Lady Elinor said, “You still have a lot to learn my dear. This… dream you have, this life you hope to achieve tell me…” She turned, “have you told the good Captain of your heritage? How you can disappear in a mist? How you can kill with a glance? Create spells and potions that could influence the order of nature… principally like Witchcraft,” Her torment did not end there, “Have you told the _virtuous_ Professor of his true destiny?”

Katrina dropped her head in mute shame. This was the secret between Ichabod and herself. Their one wall. She could not let it be used as a weapon against them now. But Lady Elinor was too sharp of mind. She walked towards Katrina still holding the blossom in one hand. With the other she reached for her face and forced panicked green eyes to meet steel grey. She continued on without mercy.

“Happiness cannot blossom in a garden where darkness, like a secret prevents the sun to gleam upon it.”

“It will not be a secret for long,” said Katrina.

Perhaps that had not been the best time to reveal her plan. Katrina hadn’t chosen a time or place to tell Ichabod the whole truth but she was now fill with an impulsive urge to find him. Lady Elinor had turned white like a sheet. She had not expected this either. It would have been a small victory if only her eyes would stop staring into Katrina’s like skewers into her soul.

“Hear me very carefully child,” she said. But Katrina knew her well enough not to be taken in by her calm manner. “I do not tease you on your carelessness, because I know despite this… distraction. You will still uphold the clandestineness of your sisters. I question you… to make you realise how big of an illusion you are building your hopes on.”

Katrina said nothing for a full minute. Her eyes narrowed in an effect to stay calm. “Ichabod will understand. He had learnt so much since Tarleton. His heart is good; he sees the truth now.”  

“What truth,” She half laughed. “The one he sees, or the one we tell him to see.”

“There is only one truth.”

Lady Elinor looked at her with pity, “Katrina…” She was drawing her more and more into a corner. But Katrina could still not stop.

“The truth is that we are at war. Not just between Nations but a war between Heaven and Hell. The truth is that there are those who wield magic on both sides,” She raised her head. “The truth is he is a Witness, prophesied in the Book of Revelation… the truth is that I’m a Witch… The truth is that I love him and he loves me.”

Lady Elinor laughed. Katrina stared at her, perplexed. Letting go of her face, she twirled round toward the door then turned to look back at Katrina, like a school girl who’d just been told a tale. “Oh Katrina… all through my trip here I had come to believe that you have turned. That this whole love charade was to undermine your Coven and your Allies. But know I see you really believe what you say.” She laughed some more.

“You believe me and yet you find it amusing.” Katrina was confused but she knew better to let her guard down.

“Why, yes… this is all amusing. For only love can make someone behave so reckless and foolish.” With that the humour had gone. “Very well my dear, let us follow your reasoning. You tell the delightful Captain Crane the truth,” she paused as if remembering something funny. “The whole truth, and nothing but the truth. Of how you were willing to marry his good friend Abraham Van Brunt, may god rest his soul, to further your connections and wealth.”

“I agree to marry for my family. Both my parents and my Coven sisters. You introduced me to him, _meoder_ … or had you forgotten that.” She desperately said.

“Oh… but you must explain to the Captain why you infiltrated yourself into a Village Magistrate’s home. After you had concocted a potion to make his beloved wife and sons sick of course. So you could nursemaid them to health… and sway him to burn a woman to the stake.”

Katrina could barely say her name, “Serlida… She threatened us and all that we stood for. She used dark powers to aided demons like Banastre Tarleton, to kill innocent men on the fields.”

“As Washington does to Ichabod. As we aid him to kill on the battle fields.”

“We stand for all that is good. Why are you questioning me on deeds you have been so proud of when they were done? You taught me that in war no methods could ever seem righteous when approach from another’s understanding.”

“Exactly... see from another’s mind, Katrina. You tell Captain Crane the lengths you have taken and you think he will just take your word for it. Rest easy… embrace you and tell you all is forgiven. Or will he delve deeper into the mystery that is Katrina Van Tassel.”

“There is no mystery to me _Meoder._ I am a meagre soldier as Ichabod is. I fight by spells and potions. He fights by gunpowder and sword. I have my Sisterhood; he has his brethren’s… thus far we are equal.”

“You will never be equal to him,” She said. “Have you forgotten that there has always been two Prophesied Witnesses in the Bible. They work as one… fated to work as one. I cannot believe I am having to remind you of creed you have followed since a child in my Coven Katrina.”

Katrina tried to answer but Lady Elinor was through listening. The blossom still in her hand, she raised it to her lips and whispered, “ _Revelaret veritatem, sicut reor.”_ The flower snapped and sparked, then spun into a fireball which she aimed at Katrina, who braced herself for the attack. But it drifted past her. Her mirror received the ball of flames as water would a stone. It rippled and moved, distorting their reflections. Watching it sway, Katrina did not hear Lady Elinor move until she felt her hands grasp her elbows from behind. “ _Ut Iubeo.”_ She whispered again.

Katrina, confined, could do nothing else but watch as the mirror draw the past. She did not need to see the images laid bare by sorcery because she has lived it. She watched herself joined by her Coven, battling another gathering of Witches long ago. The _Order of the Blood Moon._ They had trapped them in their own home, in the dead of the night, by casting hexes on all the exits. Her sisters, Fallyn and Kasandera, had laid traps in their great hall, enchantments on all the candles or any form of light. For the windows had been blackened and the hallowed Moon was prevented to shine to aid them. Leaving them in darkness. All means of light and air was blocked, like ensnaring a burrow of rabbits in the ground, gasping for air. Even if they were to reach for the bewitched candles, the moment they were lit they would draw out their powers, like leeches would blood. Leaving them further dazed. Katrina watched as if she was standing there once again. Watched as their silence pleaded in agony. Watched as their eyes widened in terror, blood tears staining their faces and their skin deathlike white. But that was all she had done. Watched. Her other two sisters, pandra and Josanna, would gather the Magistrates and the townsfolk. In pretence that a single powerful Witch had captured their wives and daughters to be the Devils brides. A pitiful reason but simple folk in fear of the unknown would believe anything when presented with unholy evidence. Having gone from the place before the townsfolk arrive. Katrina could only imagine their reactions to the devastation when they broke the barriers to enter the Great Hall. But now she could see it. The cries of pain and angered families. The hordes swearing in vengeances. Katrina could feel their rage choking her. She could no longer see her captor but she still felt her hands, gripping her in place. With difficulty she spoke, “ _Meoder_ … please…” Suddenly the room span, twisting everything in it gush of wind so strong for a moment she felt it would rip her apart. Then it cleared just as suddenly as it had arrived to reveal… Katrina. Herself as she stood where she was originally that night. Far up on the hill sheltered by the forestry. Dressed in all black. Her cloak half covering her face. Waiting for her part in this deed. She had been given the favour to face a powerful adversary. Something she thought at the time to being a great honour. The mirage Katrina watched the town below from her high raise. The town was alive with burning torches, men yelling for order branding pitchforks, women praying loudly for heavens to protect their brave men.

“ _Meoder_ … please. I can’t… watch this,” Katrina cried. Then forced herself to look behind her former self. To look towards another cloaked figure rising a hand to strike. To look into the murderous eyes of Serilda of Abaddon.


	3. Chapter 3

Something was wrong. She couldn’t make sense of it. At first she wouldn't have known that it had happened until she’d seen it; but then, the second Katrina saw blood, there was pain. It was intense, as though her head was the centre of a cycle, roaring and refusing to give in, to die, and to end the suffering. Her eyes wouldn’t focus, and her body felt too heavy. Her heart pounded like a starved bird; for some reason, she was still alive, still breathing. Then it struck again, a mighty blow, bringing more searing pain. She felt the ground reach for her as she fell towards it. The impact vibrating through her already fragile frame. She felt the dirt under her hands. The smell of dank earth filled her nostrils. For anyone else that would have been the end. The last recollection before death took its compassionate embrace. But not for a Witch. Not when the earth was sustenance itself. The moment; the pungent, acrid aroma reached Katrina’s lungs. It set off a storm of energy through her. So powerful; she shivered, arching her back as if she would sprout wings and fly with the current. Breathing ragged, Katrina opened herself up to welcome the influence. With each steading breath, she willed herself to take command of it.

It was there she felt another drawing the same nourishment from the land. Rather than hearing, Katrina felt her nemesis’s steps approach her grounded form. Felt her move to strike again. Closing her eyes, Katrina draw the energy in her mind; to surround herself in a blinding white light, imagining huge mirrors facing the outside. With mirrors in place, she inhales the soils aroma deeply, filling her lungs and bracing herself for the impact. Her nemesis struck again but Katrina’s protective mirrors deflected the blow right back at her. Caught off guard it sent her spinning to the ground just a few feet away. Taking the moment Katrina raised herself to stand. Keeping her protection cloaked upon her. She raised her arms, her mind reached out further… “Vines,” she thought. Far in the distance came the sound of snapping and crackling. Tree branches, twisted and mangled, reached out like hands. Before Katrina could guide it to its target she felt a strong backhand hit her left cheek, nearly sending her tumbling again. Katrina clutched her cheek in shook and pain making her eyes water. She had protected herself against a magical attack but was left once again vulnerable from a physical assault.

“Enough!” her nemesis roared.

Both of them stood staring at each other, barely a few feet apart. One clutching her cheek, the other her left shoulder. Both panting for air, both in pain. Karina took a small pleasure in that she gave as good as she got.

“Who are you?” asked her foe.

“Does it matter.”

“Not really,” she said, raising her head. “But your sisters clearly thought you would be the best opponent for me. It’s why they cower below picking on the weak. While you stand here against me. Frankly I’m insulted and I would like to know the name of the fool; whose body I will spit on once I have relieved it of its filthy soul.”

Katrina was not intimidated by her taunts. She began to bid the energy within her again.

“I would reconsider… child,” she said, as she raised her right hand. An orb of light appeared. Katrina took a step back. “Your Priestess taught you well… though pitiful of her not to face me herself… You protect yourself from my mind and I doubt we both have the strength to start pulling each other’s hair like tavern whores. But how will you escape from this!” …. stretching out her arm, the white orb came for Katrina. It’s light shining intense as it approached. But Katrina was ready. She raised her own arms and the branches once again crackled into action. Katrina caught the Orb; crushing it like a twig in is stronghold embrace, dispersing the light into ashes. Before her foe could react, she shot the vines out to wrap themselves around the Witch. Her arms trapped behind her. She wrenched and twisted trying to free herself. Katrina moved to tighten the vine ropes until her nemesis was too spent to struggle anymore. Keeping the hold, Katrina slowly walked towards her.

“You bitch!... you snake! … If you think for a moment that you have oust me, your mistaken. When I get free I will hunt you down and cast you to the jackals like the whore you are… and everyone you love will.…”

Word after word that flowed from her lips angered Katrina more by the second. Her patience had run out and her own temper was flaring. Rage boiled through her body. She barely had a chance to think of her action. The only thought running through Katrina’s head was to silence her once.

She pursed her lips and raised her hand back. Then threw her hand forward as hard as she could, whipping it across her face. The crack of skin contacting skin echoed off the tress. Vibrations of pain started in her palm and spread all the way to her fingertips. Katrina’s palm was bright red, the same red mark that matched the one on her foes face. But her action had received the desired outcome. She was rendered unconscious. Katrina should've felt some kind of remorse, having to resort to her level. But she didn't. Not one organ in her aching her body could produce guilt for her behaviour. A triumphant grin spread across Katrina’s face. She had won and with a flick of her crimson hair, she whirled round, and looked towards the approaching sounds echoing through the forest. She had finished her tasked successfully and in ample time. Katrina’s grin widened. She looked towards the clear sky. The movement brought back the searing pain in her head. Katrina remembered the blood and felt to see if she was still bleeding. It had stopped but she didn’t wipe the stains from her face. Remembering what carnage, the villager had met with in the Great Hall, gave Katrina an idea. She felt very proud in that moment. With a wave of her hand, she freed the comatose women to the ground, reaching into her pocket and she pulled out a small medallion. She wrapped the jewellery into the lifeless hand of her adversary. Then prepared herself, as would an actor before an approaching audience.

A deep laugh echoed in the night. It bellowed as if conjured by the very air. But the mirages could hear this sound. They were phantasms of the past. They just didn’t not know that. They had no consciousness of the two figures that had been observing them, one in absolute delight; the other rendered motionless in grief.

“Oh…” chuckled Lady Elinor, “Oh this was spectacular. I knew I should have been here. But I would never have wanted to take this moment from you… look at how pleased you are.”

Katrina was watching… was this really how it all happened. It must have, she thought, remembering how painful it had been styling her hair up in tight braids, which her mother would insist upon. Walking with corsets stiffened a knot shorter, so Mrs Sarah Van Tassel could parade her daughter to unattached and wealthy gentlemen at Balls. “Pleased…” She replied. Katrina stared at herself. Her mirage looked more than pleased, she was… glowing. Is this what battle does to her? Fill her with an unholy radiance?

“Look… they’re coming.” Lady Elinor moved to stand in front of Katrina’s mirage. Watching her with gleeful anticipation. The phantasm had lain down on the ground, presenting herself as an unfortunate, unconscious, victim.

Though it was not possible. Katrina felt the chill in the night air. When had her arms been freed?... Even so, she still could not break from this illusion. Out of the two she chose to watch the townsfolk approach in the clearing. Seemed all of them were clutching a weapon or a flaming torch. They stopped halfway. Trying to assess the violent scene in front of them. Suddenly one of them, an elderly gentleman, recognising Katrina moved forward to her aid.

“My dear lady… Help me,” he called back, “I know her… she’s the young nurse caring for my wife and son’s. Help me you fool’s.”

Katrina watched was one of the men gently picked up her apparition and carry her away.

“And this one, Sir,” called another man. The elderly gentlemen moved close to inspect the other unconscious, but undamaged, women. He jumped back, grabbing the cross around his neck, thrusting it in front of him.

“She’s one of them…” he cried. “The devil’s sorceress. She holds his mark, his sign. She’s a witch.”

Cries rang out, swarm of heads each one deranged with bloodthirsty madness, draw their pitchforks and torches high in the air to strike the blissfully unaware women. Merging with it was Lady Elinor’s ecstatic laughter. If evilness could have a voice, this laugh would make it whimper in fear. A laugh that plunged katrina into the deepest of despair. Her helplessness mingled with the hordes of savagery, like a tidal wave about to submerge her.

With a look of complete hopelessness on her face. Katrina’s knees started to shake. She swiped at her eyes but the tears came anyway. They poured out and she could only choke on the rock in her throat. An yet the worst had yet to come, she thought painfully.


	4. Chapter 4

_My dear Miss Van Tassel,_

_Forgive me for being so impatient and formal. But there are things you must know and I fear when the moment comes, when you will be standing by my side as we make our vows to love and cherish each other till death do us part. I fear I will be rendered mute. My dear, my love Katrina it will be a lie, because it will not be till death. My love for you will endure beyond that. As God will be my witness I will love and cherish you till a time without end. I want to say more. I am no bard but your love has made a valiant poet of me._

_My beloved Katrina, sweet is your mouth, it is nectar for my hungry heart, bright are your eyes, lights for my lost soul, charming is your voice, balm for my tired mind. If all women would be like you there would be no sadness in the world. I found endless happiness in your heart, I watch you in love and it seems to me I see my reflection in your soul but I know that beyond it’s an ocean too deep to ever embrace and I will have to spend my life crossing it. I love you and I will do it forever, I will always cross you with a crazy longing to get as far away possible in your soul,_

_I thought that the day we met was the happiest day of my life but nothing has prepared me for the overflowing happiness I am feeling now as I wait to meet you in the altar. I cannot wait to spend the rest of my life with you. It has always been my way to try not to give in to anticipations but this time I’ll make an exception. After all, I am marrying the most special woman in the world and that entitles me to give in to my emotions. I promise you my love, devotion, fidelity, and protection. Up to the last breath of my life, I will love you without condition. I will be true to you in the face of the gravest temptation. I will protect you and keep you safe, whatever it takes to do that._

_My love is not perfect like but this will not prevent me from trying to be such in your eyes. If I fail along the way, remind me, reproach me, love me, until I return to my senses. You, and only you can lead me back._

_I am and remain, in this world and the next,_

_Forever yours,_

_Ichabod._

 Ichabod put down his quill and read the letter a few times over, pondering if it was enough…or too much. His emotions had been playing havoc with his physical being for the last few hours. No… if he is honest it began the moment he had sent Katrina the note a few days before. A hastily written appointment and trusting that the shrewd looking nurse he had often seen with Katrina, would pass his message on to her. Though he could not remember the women’s name. He offered her a heartfelt thankyou when he saw Katrina appear at their meeting place.

Seeing her had dispersed any anxiety inside Ichabod. Since he had arrived back from his mission. He could think of nothing but Katrina. What he would say to her…. how he would explain. The mission itself had been successful but it had come at a tragic cost. A loss caused by his own blundered timing. Thought it was the right action, it was taken upon at the wrong time. After he had briefed his General’s, Ichabod had sought Katrina out. Being utterly committed to her sect, he knew he would find her tending to his fallen comrades, nursing their injuries and giving them hope with her gentle words of encouragements. He was all ready for her complaints. But when he finally plucked the courage to speak to her, she had understood. His beloved’s nature was so tender and giving, that she had cried and took the blame upon herself. Katrina, with pained eyes, had looked into his own and tormented at being one to come between two friends. But it was not her blame to take, nor his. You cannot force someone to love you, and their hearts had already merged with each other long before he had been given his fateful charge. Ichabod had honoured his duty, if his friend had not been so pandered to his own selfish needs, he too would have felt the gravity of the task handed to them. Abraham Van Brunt had fallen due to his own folly. Yes... Ichabod’s moment to confess his love for Katrina and ask his friends blessing had been wrong but it was Abraham who choose to rise his sword towards him, in the middle of enemy territory. Ichabod had pleaded with him but Abraham was too enraged to listen to reason. Amidst this draw, he was struck by the enemy’s bullet and fell. Ichabod was faced with a terrible decision. Help his naive and hurt friend, and get captured along with him, or complete their mission. Since it was unthinkable to let the _Declaration of Resolves_ fall into the British hands before it could be announced under the imprimatur of the Continental Congress. Duty to the Country, for they had already believed the Colonies to be, de facto if not de jure, had outweighed his duty to his friend. So Ichabod had fled leaving his friend behind, evading the redcoats and fulfilling his mission. If there was to be blame it was his and Abraham’s alone, but not Katrina’s. It would have been unconceivable for her marry Abraham when she did not love him. Even if her heart had not united with his, it would have been a false life to lead. He spoke of this to Katrina, just before he enfolded her into his arms.

It was in that moment… when he took her in his arms to comfort her, that he knew they could no longer stay parted. In that moment they were lost in their embrace, almost melting into each other. Ichabod closed his eyes, trying to calm his, already soaring, heartbeat at the memory. It had been hard then too. To follow the rhythm, and to lose track where his body stops and hers began. To feel safe and contented like in a perfect dream.

Ichabod gripped the quill in his hand and the other he laid flat on his desk to steady his thoughts. The memory was vivid that he could recollect the fragrance in her hair. Sweet, earthy and very feminine, and just as that day he left the ache…a longing. An indescribable thirst that stirred actions in his body difficult for him to comprehend or control. Ichabod had no name for this fever that first came upon him when he formally laid eyes on Katrina, and indeed every time he laid eyes on her. Never had he felt it before, nor with any other women thereafter. It had perplexed him at first but now he understood. This carnal urge that took over him was desire… lust. He wanted Katrina with a consuming passion. To bury himself within her soft moulds. Mere thoughts of her made his body react, blood pooling hot in his loins in a way that was becoming all too familiar in her presence. It was there in Katrina too, in her eyes, desire and surrender and a slow burning passion that needed only a kiss to set it ablaze. A saint might have resisted but Ichabod had never pretended to be any such being. Katrina made him feel like a man, with all a man’s desires, and the women in his arms had been in his thoughts for what might have been forever.

He had whispered her name and in answer she had slowly raised her head. Her lips had parted beneath his and they both fell into that kiss.

Good God, how sweet she had tasted. Her kiss whispered of flowers filled meadows, summer breezes, and of moon washed nights. The soft sounds she made had sent pleasure sizzling through his blood. Her small hands had held him a willing prisoner, fisted in his hair, she tugged him down to her, deepening the intensity of his kiss. The tip of her tongue had curled against his in a sweet, silken caress. The feel of it had made his blood surge.

With great strain and regret, he had drawn back, still holding her to him, and traced the features of her face with a fingertip.

“You are so beautiful.” He had whispered, looking down on her ethereal beauty.

She smiled and had set her small hand over his where it rested against her cheek. It was still slightly damp from her earlier tears and he so wanted caress them away. The kiss had been passionate, raw and beautiful and who knows where it may have led them, had it not been for the group of soldier approaching. They both broke from their clinch. But their eyes stayed drawn to each other. Even the sly looks from the passing soldiers, nor that shrewd looking nurse, coming to stand by Katrina’s side, could not break what had only moments before taken hold of them. If the _sister_ hadn’t engaged Katrina’s arm and lead her away, all the while keeping her dark eyes on me with suspicion. he would have attempted to embrace Katrina again. For he was already missing her warmth encircled in his.

That was always the case when he was with Katrina. He would forget himself, become her happy fool. Embracing a woman in the corridors of a full hospital, filled with soldiers, was not Captain Ichabod Cranes way. But she gave him courage. Just being in her presence made him feel bold to act in a manner to which he was not accustomed to, and if Ichabod was honest with himself, he revelled in it. The next day, after a restless night, he had started making plans to marry the women he loved with or without their families blessing.

Two days later, just gone mid-morning, he had stood outside the carriage house, praying his message had been delivered and well received by Katrina. Ichabod couldn’t remember a time when he had nervously counted the seconds with every beat of his heart. When she had appeared, shyly walking towards him, with a radiant smile adoring her face. He felt his heart soar into a million musical notes. As she moved her black cloak flowed to reveal the folds of her blue gown. The same blue she often, playfully, likened to the colour of his eyes. Ichabod had to close his for that brief moment. To capture it. If he was to ever fall in the battlefield or the demons he fought pulled him to the depth of hell, from where his soul could never return. This moment captured in his memory, along with many others he had been saving since meeting Katrina, would be his only salvation.

“Ichabod…”

Just as her melodious whisper of his name would bring him out of a trance of his own making. He had felt Katrina slide her hand into his and squeeze it, and he had squeeze back in reply. Ichabod opened his eyes to see her smiling up at him. He raised her hand, to kiss her slender fingers and guided her into their waiting carriage.

The sound of scurrying maids brought Ichabod back to the present. He read the letter again and decided that it said all he wanted to say sufficiently. He sealed it with wax. Filling the quill with ink he wrote “Miss Van Tassel,” on the front then stilled his hand. Soon she will take his name, as God and his cleric being their witness. Soon there will be no barrier between them. They will be man and wife. Ichabod looked at the clock above the mantle. Then, just to be sure, took out his pocket watch, and checked again. Still an hour before he was to wait for Katrina at the altar.

Thought the church was still in morning mass. Ichabod was anxious to be there. He had risen early and in hopes of walking off his nervousness, had set off to church. He had wished to speak to the pastor, make him aware about his and Katrina’s…. circumstances of a quick and quiet wedding. Only to find the church doors locked. Still a walk round the fertile grounds proved soothing. Large blooms of _Rhododendrons_ were growing freely. It had given him an idea. No words had been spoken between them on their journey towards the little village. Ichabod had spent most of it stealing glances at Katrina and though he was sure they were just her anxieties, as his had been. He was a little troubled of Katrina’s far-away countenance. But as he could not find words to ease her spirits, Ichabod remained silent. Now if Katrina was to wake in this flourish spender, it might ease her concerns… surely, he had thought. It will expression to her, how she has filled each waking moment of his life with colour, fragrance… and life. Thus he picked as many blooms as he could carry… and more. Carrying them back to the Inn, he found a young chamber maid who, blushing, followed through his request to scatter them in the young mistress’s room before she awoke. Then having another idea, proceeded to his room to pen his bride to be a letter… no a promise.

Ichabod reached for the bell to summon a maid. Then though better of it. He stood and walked toward the full length mirror by the window. Checking his watch again he tucked it into the left pocket of his waistcoat, an earthy green worn over a crisp white shirt. He felt the other pocket containing their wedding bands. Black knee length coat, with green, gold buttons and black knee length boots to complete his wedding attire. His hair was combed and tied proficiently back. His eyes, noted by all who could see him, were bright with happy anticipation.

Has Ichabod was ready. He decided that he would deliver his letter to his bride to be. Would she playfully banter with him behind the door, as it was custom not to see the bride before she arrived at the church? Would she teasingly quarrel with him for trying to see her before the service? Would she comment on the flowers, decorating her room? He did not know… but Ichabod was eager to find out. Grinning from ear to ear, he picked the letter and his hat. Giving one last look about the room, Ichabod walking out towards the corridor leading him to his Lady’s chamber.

 


	5. Chapter 5

“Witch Hunt” Spoken of… with majestic pride among the townsfolk. Katrina knew it well. It was engraved on her soul, nourishment for her deepest fears. They called themselves ‘Puritans.’ They were a group of people who grew discontent in the Church of England and worked towards religious, moral and societal reform. Deciding that the Church of England was beyond reform and escaping persecution from church leadership and the King, they came to America. Their spiritual beliefs were strong. This strength they held over small communities. Since God was at the forefront of their minds, he motivated all of their actions. Be it questionable actions or not. No one would dare ask for fear of retribution. They tended towards fission and fractions, strong opinions, righteous indignations. Like any oppressed people, they defined themselves by what offended them. Witchcraft was portentous, a Puritan favourite. So they created a panic amongst the peaceful, god fearing folk. Every sickness, every ailment or moral panic was blamed on witchery. Though they boasted of having methods to separates the guilty from the innocent. All witches knew, it was mass hysteria, superstition and politics that drove people to accuse others out of petty reasons. Since no witch could be caught, unless betrayed by her own kind, it was usually the innocent who perished by the flames.

As she stood watching her former self, calmly preparing medicated broth for her charges. Katrina couldn’t rid the feeling of shame which had overwhelmed her since last night. Her mind fought with the logic of her deeds and the good outcomes they had produced. But if given another chance, she wasn’t so sure of undertaking the same action again.

“Uh…how you’ve changed…” came the haughty voice behind her. Katrina did not turn. She didn’t want to look at her jailer. ‘What was the point’…she thought, in the _specula_ , the realm of mirrors, even your thoughts were not your own.

“No they are not…” invaded a voice in her head. “You are my disciple Katrina. Your very existence belongs to me and at present your thoughts are making me quite nauseated.” Abandoning her mind, she came to stand beside her, “Kindly keep your thoughtful convolutions to yourself.”

In the home belonging to magistrate Combs. Katrina continued to watch her bygone illusion play out. A feeling of desperation and helplessness still reigning inside her. She could not even argue the threat of time or of being rescued. The _Specula_ held time as its hostage too. It was a realm where centuries could pass, but only moments would transpire in the living world. It was not only that, that prevented Katrina from retaliating. The _Specula_ was also the passageway for many doors and almost all where abyss of hell. Katrina feared where her torment was leading too. Thus she tried hard to pacifier her distresses. She will need her strength for later.

Her mirage was in the kitchen. Dressed in her nurse attire, not a hint of last night’s ordeal on her. Concentrating on preparing the remedy, to the illness she had inflicted a mother and her two small sons with. A protective hex was placed on the door and windows. Katrina was working alone, for the ingredients needed were less than savoury. With every townsman amidst the witch panic, she could not have witnesses to a broth needing tarragon, dandelions and crow’s feet, coated in oak moss. The last was one of Katrina’s own design, the oak moss would normally be used as firewood to cook the potion but using its essence within the mixture gave it more potency.

Lady Elinor moved closer to observe her work. Her former self hummed the incantation, unsuspectingly. “Creative of you” she said with a satisfactory smile playing on her lips.

Katrina felt the urge to speak, to take back some control even if it meant to humour her mentor.

“The process is still how you taught me. Only the way I carry it has changed.”

“Yes, I see.”

“By using the essence of oak moss I can heat the crow’s foot into paste so it is not noticeable in the pot, and….”

“And therefore beyond suspicions of any kitchen maid or it’s devourer. Also oak moss has a distinctive smell when burnt…” passing her a shrewd look she added, “But this is more science than sorcery. The incantation seduces the fire, produced by the oak moss, which captivates the flames to dance around the cauldron. Enticing the smoulder to flow through the air and into the pot with flourished longing to unify. That is the special ingredient Katrina. Much more than just cooking a broth.”

Katrina’s former self moved towards the cauldron placed on the stove. She stirred the pot, satisfied that mixture had liquefied enough, she poured in, prepared vegetables to mask its earlier elements. Lady Elinor sniffed the air, she moved closer and peered over her shoulder, just as Katrina added more herbs.

“You really have made it potent” she said turning back to where her captive stood. With mild curiosity she asked ‘Why?’

Katrina, already trying hard to keep her nerves, and with thoughts betraying too much, replied dejectedly.

“I had intended the potion for the mistress of the manor only. But their children had also consummated it.” Katrina looked away. She had brewed the concoction for a woman of large stature and frame. Whose weakness for sweet delicacies were well-known. When Katrina had gifted the summer fruit pie to the naive women, she had not anticipated that the doting mother would also give a piece to her only two children. The concoction had its desired effect on the mother, only giving her stomach cramps and sickness. But the sons were very young and had taken the worst, their small bodies sized and convulsed, sickness letting no nourishment touch them. Katrina had merely wanted to influences the husband; the judge, into believing that sorcery was to blame for his wife’s ailing health, but now the father was motivated by tormented revenge. Being the women that had given the last meal to the family taken ill, she could not remain in case the finger of suspicion was pointed at her too. It was planned that Fallyn would take over to nurse the family back to health. But the guilt of her part had weighted so heavily on her conscious that Katrina remained behind and placed herself as their nursemaid.

For the first time she reflected on how similar her act was with the Puritans. They may have created the fear and panic, but just like the so called Men of God, she had used the vulnerable to push her own agenda. That knowledge was so terrifying, more than she had ever accepted, Katrina immediately pushed it further from her mind.

“How odd that Fallyn not tell me of this development. I had thought you remained behind because your sister was more eager to work with her favourite companions.”

“No, she was vexed with me for changing the plan so suddenly…” Katrina said, remembering her sisters displeased expression that day. “You were given an account by her. I’m surprised you didn’t read her mind, as you often read mine.”

“There is far less pleasure and more cluster in your sister’s minds combined than it is in yours.” Lady Elinor turned her potent gaze towards Katrina. “I’m rather fond of browsing in your thoughts child. They are…quite extraordinary. There is more hidden in you than even you are aware off.”

Katrina did not like this. knowing someone should know her more than herself and being that it is not the first time _Meoder_ had eluded to this. She often did which in the past Katrina would have taken as a great compliment, only now it filled her with an even greater foreboding.

“You should not fear it Katrina. You should embrace it. Child… why else do you think we are here.”

“To show me my evil deeds.” Was all she could reply. Lady Elinor moved with speed that only she could govern and sized Katrina in an embrace, shocking her into confusion and fear.

“No child, to show you how boundless you had once been. How you were soaring through your flight with skill and such progression. Such power is possible within you.”

Her embrace was warm; the first touch of warmth’s Katrina had felt since the morning sun only moments ago. Oh but how it seemed like hours. She could feel her defences slowly crumbling. Katrina hadn’t realised just how alone she had been feeling, for so long. All her doubts and fears consuming her and having no one to talk to or make understand. In that moment wrapped in _meoder’s_ arms she felt safe and secure, so much so that even she didn’t understand what change had come over her.

“You have done nothing wrong, my cherished one. Nothing to be ashamed or guilty about. Yet you burden your heart with such travail’s as these. What is ever fair in war… is far less in love.”

Katrina closed her eyes and snuggled closer in _Meoder’s_ heat. Her confused mind could not comprehend the meaning, but the softly spoken words combined with the gentle humming of her former self, pacified Katrina. When she felt _Meoder_ quietly stroke her head, Katrina defences fell and she felt oddly complete.

“There is so much of yourself you have lost…” Katrina tried to fight the release but Lady Elinor parted her enough to lift her head with one hand, so she could look into her eyes. This invasion was not as harsh as earlier but with the touch of a mother’s love. Katrina welcomed the allure of her _Meoder’s_ eyes, drawing her in…

“So lost, for so long… I will guide you back to us. Listen to me” she kissed her lovingly on her forehead and whispered in her ear, “Shed what you have become... Embrace what you once we’re... _Quem tu, quod te iam erant fieri ... amplexus ..._ ”

Still in her mother’s embrace, Katrina half turned to where her former self had finished setting the tray for her charges. Abandoning the present, Katrina opened herself to the past…

 

* * *

 

The magistrate’s manor house was the largest in town. It was built in the medieval days when courtyards were compulsory for the gentry. Great stones walls built to withstand centuries of use. As you enter the large wooden doors, you see, what once must have been a beautiful flourishing garden with possibly a majestic fountain in the centre of the courtyard. Now it is a manure covered cobbles with lines of rope running from corner to corner of the yard, laundry being hung by pretty little maids. Ahead of you was the Great Hall and main house, to the left a private chapel and to the right the kitchen and servant quarters. It was through this passage Katrina had to cross, along the courtyard towards the main house. Most often, groups of men loitered around, soldiers, workmen, clergymen, all while conducting business with the magistrate, waited to catch the eye of those pretty little maids and unfortunately today was not going to be any different. Having captured a deadly witch yesterday, the townsfolks had celebrated with great vigour. The results of which was still evident.

“Hello there my beauty…” one of the men yelled, amongst whistling and groaning. Carrying a tray, Katrina ignored them and continued crossing the yard. Inches away from the entering the Great Hall. One of the men, came to block her path.

“I said…hello there my beauty.” Without even looking at his flushed parlour, or the why he swayed. Katrina could tell by his odour that he was still drunk. She tried to walk around him, but with his friends laughing and encouraging him on, he was persistent and grabbed the tray, bring his face closer. Katrina’s grip tightened but she kept her eyes down.

“I’m a hero…” he slurred. “Caught the devil’s hag last night. Aren’t to going to give the hero a kiss.” His friends cheered on, some shouting to hurry up, eager for their turn.

“Please let me past.” Katrina tried to move by, but he still held on to the tray.

“Not till I get my kiss… come on pretty…” He swayed his face closer. His stench filling her nostrils. Instead of making her nauseated, it made her angry. She welcomed the small ball of fire which had begun forming in the pit of her stomach. Within seconds the inferno was itching to be released. Katrina looked up into the drunk’s eyes and gave a flirtatious smile. He looked stunted. Taking the moment, she released the inferno, guiding it along her arms to connect with the steel tray. The drunken man gave out a scream and jumping back with his arms stretched out, as if his hands had been dip in lava. In pain he fell to his knees, since he showed no visible signs of injury his friends howled in laughter. Katrina walked round him and entered the Hall. Leaving the man to his humiliation and drunken confusion.

By now she was eager to reach her two small charges. Last night before she had to leave to complete her mission, Katrina had made sure to light an enchanted candle. With her care they had regained some of their strength and with that all of their mischievousness. They felt riled that all the menfolk would go out witch hunting and they to remain in bed. The candle was hexed with a sleep spell and would have ensured them rested still morning.

“My dear lady…” Another pair of hands reached for the tray. This was beginning to annoy Katrina. But she took a sigh and released her burden to Magistrate Combs.

“You should not be out of bed. After what horrors you went through last night.”

“I assure you Sir, I’m quite well.”

“No… No I will not hear of it. There are other nurses who can attend to my family. You dear lady must rest.”

“Please Mr Combs,” Katrina spoken hastily, before he could call out for a passing maid. She rested a hand on his arm. It was only the lightest of touches but enough to push her influence on him. “Let me assure you, I am well rested. Tis was a small wound, easily cleaned away. Please allow me to care for your family. It is what you wish for me to do.”

“Yes,” he smiled passing the tray back to Katrina, “You must care for my beloved family. Only you can take care of them.” Such was the case when influencing another’s mind, even mildly, that they tended to lose the focus of their thoughts thereafter.

“Mr Combs…,”

“Yes…”

“Sir, don’t you have a trial to prepare for…”

He blinked “Oh yes…trial. I am pleased to see you are better today my lady but I must bid you good day. A lot of work to do. I know my family is in good hands…” He bowed once, then twice, “Yes…erh…good day.” And with that walked off. Katrina gave another sigh and made towards the children’s room.

She knocked on the door, “Who's got a kiss for the pickety witch, the pickety witch, the pickety witch?” she heard sounds of scurrying and laughter, and knocked again “In she comes, hearing the noise, of two little boys’… A kiss for the picket witch, the picket witch…” and enters the room to unmade, empty beds.

“Mmmm now where could they have gone… William, Edward,” Katrina walked by one of the beds, ignoring the tiny arm visible under it. Placing the tray on the table, “and after all the effort I’ve put into this hot, delicious broth,” she lifted the lib off one of the bowls, allowing the aroma to escape, “And I put in extra carrots too…” She pretended to think, “or was that extra potatoes…”

“Potatoes…No carrots…” came the excited cries as two little dark haired boys emerged from under the bed. Katrina pretended to stumble in surprise.

“My heaven’s, where did you both spring from. You gave me quite a shock.”

“We scared you Katrina,” giggled William.

“We’re you really scared, Katrina,” joined Edward.

“Oh yes I was… but only momentarily.”

Katrina went down on her knees and the boys ran into her arms. In short few days she had grown to love them dearly. William, 8, was the eldest by a year from his brother Edward. Both boys took after their father, with dark hair and even darker eyes. The sweetest of temperaments, though Katrina sometimes feared for them. Their father, though not a clergyman, and a genteel man himself, was a faithful follower of the Puritan teachings.

“Martha said you were dying,” Said William, “we said she was lying and you would never leave us, but she said… she said you were hurt by that witch. That you were bleeding.”

“We prayed for you,” chimed in Edward, “but I don’t think god heard us, we fell asleep without saying our prays and had to say them this morning.”

“Katrina, do you think God will have heard us.” Said William.

“Of course he would have heard you. The lord hears everyone’s prays, any time of the day, and Martha shouldn’t have scared you like that.”

Edward moved closer, so the walls would not hear him say, “What was she like. Was she really ugly. Did she have claws, and…”

“and big eyes, and long nose,” interrupted William, “did have teeth…” Both looked so shocked at the imagine they had created that Katrina had to laugh.

“No, none of that,” then in an attempt to distract them, she said, “Now who is hungry.”

It had worked for the moment. Both boys pulled out their hands eagerly to show Katrina that they had already washed. Then took their place by the table. Katina had added extra carrots and potato into the broth, for what one boy loved the other hated and she made sure William got all the carrots, while Edward got the potatoes. They ate with honeyed bread quietly, while Katrina changed their bed sheets and brought out fresh nightshirts. Seeing the nightshirts, the boys had protested, they felt strong enough to want to play outside today. But fearing that the boys were mischievous enough to try and sneak into courthouse, to watch the impending trial. Karina persuade them to remain another day in bed. With a promise that she will tell them everything that happened. Making sure they had plenty of books and toys to occupy them. She kissed then good day and left to check on their mother.  

Finding her not in her bedroom, she asked the maid cleaning the chamber and was told that ‘the mistress was feeling better and was in the chapel, saying her morning prayers.’ It was a good sign thought Katrina, making her way towards the Hall. The concoction may have been mild for the mother and threating for sons, but the remedy had taken a while to aid her while her sons grow stronger by the day. “Curious…” she muttered to herself.

Katrina had just reached the courtyard when she heard a scuffle coming from the kitchen. Thinking it may be one of the men getting favoured by one of the maids, Katrina walked on. But not two steps more, when she felt a pull from the earth. Similar as last night but, not as hostile, this pull was disordered, like a vessel confused on its direction, and grasping at any port. Katrina cleared her mind and concentrated, focusing on the location. Once she knew where to go, she immediately pulled her herself back. There was a rule to being allied with the earth’s energy. You never leave yourself open. If you are not taking, then you are being drained. Whoever was trying to connect with the earth’s energy, was obviously a novice. Unless brought in by another witch to mentor them. Many people could spend their whole lives without knowing the capacity of power lying dormant within them, and those who knew of their abilities but were never taught, their immaturity would drive them to madness. Katrina could not risk it. If forced, she could end up hurting an innocent, in protection of herself.

At first glance the kitchen looked just as Katrina had left it, until you saw the wine bottle shattered on the ground, its contents smeared on the wall. The courtyard had been empty, where had the drunken louts gone? A feeling of dread came over her. Katrina hastened towards the servant’s quarters, which were situated through the kitchen and far on the other side of the manor house. Too far to hear a call of distress until it was too late. The sounds of a struggle and a women’s whimpering pointed out the door. Katrina did waste a moment before she wretched the door open to a sight that made her blood run cold.

She was cowering half naked on the floor next to the bed. When she looked up Katerina saw her face was tearstained, swollen and bleeding, her body badly bruised. Long bloodies gashes marked her bare back. Katrina rushed to her side. Grabbing the sheet from the bed, she covered her trembling form. She wasn’t sure where or how to begin helping her. Soldiers from battle came into her care with similar, if not worst, wounds. This young girl looked as if she had been mangled by an army. ‘Who could do this to this,’ she thought.

“Hey there my beauty.”

Before she could react. He grabbed her from behind and slammed her against the wall. Before she could recover his hands came around her throat and tighten its hold. Katrina could taste the blood in her mouth. Instinct took over, she reached her arm out and hit him hard in the jaw with an uppercut. It was like hitting steel. But it had no effect on his.

“You’re are fighter, are you?” he laughed, “I like that.” Then slapped her back. Lights exploded behind her eyes. He grabbed her blouse to tear if off when suddenly he gasped. Grabbing his head, he staggered back and fell with a loud thud on the ground. Katrina focused, ignoring the pain ringing in her own head, and saw the servant girl clutching a cane, high towards her chest, panting. In fact, both women were struggling to breathe and just stood looked at each other, stunned.

When Katrina could finally speak “Thank you.” The maid servant girl didn’t say anything, but acknowledged by nodding her head.

 

* * *

 

Katrina took the distasteful task of tying the vile man up in the room. She encouraged the young servant girl to wash and change in another room, but in truth the girl didn’t need much encouragement. Something about the way she calmly gathered some clothes and walked away, gave Katrina the impression that this was not her first unfortunate meeting with this vile man and she wasn’t going to ask for help in moving his dead weight because Katrina loathed the idea of any part of that bastard, touching the girl again.

After securing him, Katrina placed a hex on the window and door, ensuring no one to hear him and no one to enter. She found the girl siting by the kitchen table, staring in to the stove fire. She was so absorbed in the flames that she didn’t realise Katrina until she saw her put a bowl of broth and a glass of wine in front of her. The girl shook her head, declining the offering.

“Come now… it will help,” leaning closer to the girl, she said, “It has healing qualities.”

For the first time since their unfortunate meeting, the girl looked straight into Katrina’s eyes. Then picked up the spoon and took some broth.

It gave time for Katrina to observe the girl properly too. Thought bathing could not remove the bruises which had begun to form on her face. Katrina saw that she was not really a girl. Her small, mistreated frame, quivering by a corner certainly gave the impression of a very young child but on closer inspection she was quiet a beautiful woman. Despite of side of her face already swelling, you can still see her features were delicate. She had a dark completion, skin as smooth as silk with high cheekbones and a straight nose, delicately shaped. Her eyes were dark, framed by look lashes. There was a positive beauty in her eyes. An expression of warmth and strength. Notwithstanding creatures from hell, how any mortal would want to abuse such a light spirit was beyond Katrina.

“What is your name?”

The girl pretended to concentrate on chewing her meal.

“My name is Katrina Van Tassel. I’ve been nursing the mistress of this manor, and her sons for a few weeks.” Katrina paused to see if the girl was listening. She was.

“I thought I’d met all the servants of this household, but I don’t think we’ve run in to each other. Are you new?”

After what felt like hours, but was really a moment, the girl put down her spoon and looked at Katrina.

“I am maid to the Stewart’s… My mistress is with her first child. Her travel was ill-advised by the physicians but she wanted to be with her sister, who is mistress here. I travelled with her to care for her needs.”

A dreadful realization dawned on Katrina. “And that man?”

The girl swallowed a few times. “He is my master…” she took the glass of wine and sipped.

After a pause, a disheartening “I see” was all Katrina could muster.

“I felt you.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“When he… I always disappear inside myself. Try to escape. Normally I am alone but today I felt someone else. But…” she struggled to find the words. “It’s always dark and… and peaceful. But I felt a warmth, for a moment. I tried to reach for it but it disappeared as fast as it had appeared.” She looked at Katrina again. “Then I saw you and I knew.”

Katrina smiled, knew the question was coming, and she also knew what she had to do.

“Are you a witch?” The girl whispered.

“Yes… like you.”

No cried of denial came, only confusion. “I don’t know... am I?

Katrina moved closer and took her hands in her own. “Shall I tell you what it means to be a witch? What it means to me, being a witch?... It is to me a journey. It starts within me and spreads out into every corner of my life. It is self-knowledge, and self-control. It is finding magic and joy in the everyday. It is seeking balance when it is lacking, and growing through the gaining of it. It is an innate sense of purpose and happiness, even when there isn't much going on. You are always a witch, whatever life throws at you, and the learning and growing never ends.”

The girl bowed her head. Katrina touched her forehead with her own. She called for the energy, to gather in her mind and sent it, like a gentle breeze, through their touch. The warm light she had tried to find. Katrina filled her body with it, covered her centre and didn’t stop until she reached her soul. The mysterious, ethereal energy form that is our essence. Hers was beautiful. Full of courage, hope and wonder. It reached out and embraced Katrina’s spirit. They were kindred, they were now sisters.

“Will you teach me.” She whispered.

“I think in time we will teach each other. But right now you need someone with more knowledge.” Katrina broke their connection to look at her. “How would you like a new situation, at a home far from here.”

“My master would never allow it.” She said, but there was a slight gleam of hope in her dark eyes.

“You leave that part to me. Its seems my friend our paths were meant to meet, and I will lead you towards the first of your journey.”

Realising there was still an important matter between them, Katrina asked, “You still haven’t told me your name.”

The girl shook her head and smiled, the first since their meeting. It gave her a mesmerizing glow.

“Grace,” she said, “Grace Dixon.”

 

* * *

 

 

 “Well, this is entertaining.” Pandra watched as yet another servant scamper by, trying hard to mask her curiosity.

“If she passes, dusting around us again.” Whispered Kasandera, through gritted teeth. “The poor dear is going to meet with a fortunate accident.”

“Comes sisters…,” Catching an elderly maids eye, Josanna smiled. “I’m sure they will be rewards for their curiosity soon.”

Out of the _Specula_ , and the bed chamber that had become a transitory prison for the young bride. The world still carried on. The maids went about their business, the guests continued to enjoy the Inn’s hospitality. No one suspected how two worlds was colliding in a fusion of time, barely yards away from them. How could they do? Just as every prison had high walls and guards, this one had a powerful spell and Watchers.

“Small towns are always in the leisurely habit of being inquisitive and new faces are intriguing.” Fallyn looked around table to her allies. “We’re the talk of the town sisters.”

Kasandera was not impressed. “I rather be famed for my deeds, not because I sit here as a glorified guard.”

Pandra looked pitilessly at Kasandera. “Hardly glorified.”

Already vexed, Kasandera hissed at her sister, baring her fangs. Beyond caring of who watches.

Orders given by their leader prevented them from walking away. But it need not be said that the small dining area was not becoming suffocating by the minute. The spell which guarded Katrina’s room was being maintained by a collective. Four sisters joined in mind, life and soul. Being united made them powerful and resilient. But unfortunately it didn’t mean they always got along. It also didn’t help their temperament being combined together, because for their link to work, they must remain in close proximity. The closer they were, the further their powers could reach. Though they were unified, it was a still a relatively new experience for them and hard to manage.

“I still don’t understand why we couldn’t have kept watch on the Captain. It’s not like _Meodor_ couldn’t spellbind the room for a little chat with… with…” Kasandera couldn’t bring herself to say her sisters name.

Always willing to vex, Josanna finished for her. “Katrina.”

“Thank you.”

“Your welcome,” taking a sip of her tea.

That had been praying on Fallyn’s mind too. “We know _Meoder_ is more than capable. Something else is happening. I can’t explain it but I can feel.” She beckoned her sisters to lean closer. “We guard the entrance. Well are aware of any approaching presence. But why can’t we feel what is happening inside that door.”

Pandra looked at her confused. “What are you talking about?”

“Haven’t anyone of you three been paying attention?” asked Fallyn incredulously. “What is the point of being united, when we are not even in thought as one?”

“Dear sister the only thing keeping me sane right now is not being fulling of one mind with the three of you.” Kasandera hissed, looking pointed at Josanna.

“Look within” urged Fallyn. “Search for them.”

The sisters tried. Envisioning a door surrounded by light and wrapped in vines. They slithered like a thousand reptiles, hissing as they sensed being watched. Kasandera glimpse the door handle and reached for it. The vines lashed out with a sudden blow that rocked her back in shock. Blood blossomed from the flesh wound. The rest draw back immediately, sensing their fiery sister getting ready to retaliate.

Josanna grabbed her handkerchiefs and discretely Kasandera’s bleeding wound. They could all see her fighting not to react. But to retaliate would most certainly mean a death sentence for all of them. There was another abrupt blow of power. _Meoder_ had sensed their disloyalty and sent a reprimand.

“How dare you involve yourself in my affairs. You are no more than progenies. Let me remind you of what happens to disobeying children.” An intense heat, worse than anything they have ever felt, coursed through them. Pandra began to tremble. Fallyn griped her hand in reassurance. This had been her plan and now she and her sisters were being burnt from the inside out. “Forgive” she whispered, “Forgive.”

All of a sudden she was there, pulling back into their minds. The room and its living occupants vanished, they were surrounded by a smoke blind to everything but the figure dressed in black, standing in front of them. The sisters shivered as _Meoder_ hissed, her eyes burning red, enjoying the taste of their fears. Then just as suddenly she disappeared and they were once again sat in the small crowed dining room, trying to breath air into their lungs. The meaning was clear to them…No matter how powerful the four become, they will never be as dominant as her. Do not disobey her again.

“What is she doing to her in there?”

“Kasandera…” beseeched Josanna.

The most turbulent of the four, Kasandera snatched her hand from Josanna’s grasp, wrapping the handkerchief around her injured hand. “I need air,” and stood up to leave. Still needing to keep the guard spell, and welcoming the idea of taking air. They stood and followed sister out.

They found Kasandera sat amongst the shrubbery, by the entrance. They sat down with her, silently watching the ignorant people going about their business. The morning sun was warm. But it wasn’t doing anything to strained ease their nerves.

“Where does he think he’s going?” Kasandera asked.

The sisters followed her gaze, to where the Captain was striding towards the Inn entrance.

“Maybe he’s come to his senses,” wondered Fallyn. “Come to retract his offer of marriage.”

Josanna looked at her, incredulously. “Then all this would have been for nothing!”

Kasandera observed as he draw nearer, “No, look at him. The ridiculous expression of a man in love. He’s carrying a note. He means to deliver it himself.”

The very notion was repulsive to the sisters.

“Were the absurd flowers not enough,” asked Pandra cynically. “What has happened to Katrina. To fall for this pathetic excuse of a….”

“Are we even positive he is the Witness?” shrieked Kasandera. He had walked passed them, into the Inn. Time was of the essence. Kasandera smiled at her sisters. “I say we give him a trial of our own. Katrina could be right… but then she could very well be wrong too.”

A strange stillness had spread like a cool breeze through them and touched their fragile link. They were still troubled by their reprimand. They had been forced to burn a bit of themselves. The sisters unified, that this was an opportunity to gain it back.

“How long”

“Not long”

“The spell will change his mind for him”

“He’ll be coming out soon”

“We are ready”

The four, unbeknown to them, speak as one. Prepared for the trial of Captain Ichabod Crane.


	6. Chapter 6

The quiet never bothered Grace. She had time to think when it was quiet. Her mind would wander back to the few glimpses of memory she had of her home and her family. When she would console herself that there was a time she had been more than just property. Only now her mind was full of horrid thoughts. This time, wandered back to what might have been the beginning of her captivity. Or at least what she assumed was the beginning. Since the memory was so feverish and frantic, it set her heartbeat racing uncontrollably. No matter how hard Grace tried, her thoughts kept going back to the Master, tied up and probably debating on how to punish her for her insolence. She tried to rationalise what had happened, over the dreaded events that had taken place, and a feared and uncertain future.

Everywhere the years bring to all enough of sin and sorrow; but in slavery the very dawn of life is darkened by those shadows. Even the little girl, who is accustomed to wait on her Mistress and children, learns before she is 12yrs old, why it is that her Mistress hates such and such a one among the slaves. She listens to violent outbursts of jealous passion, and cannot help understanding what is the cause. She becomes prematurely aware of evil things. Soon she will learn to tremble at her Masters footfall. She will be forced to realise that she is no longer a child. If God had bestowed beauty upon her, it will prove her greatest curse. That which commands admiration in the white women only hastens the degradation of the female slave. Grace could not tell how much she had suffered at the hands of her owners. Her Master would meet her at every turn, reminding her that she belonged to him. Grace could swear by heaven and earth that he would compel her to submit to him. If she would go outdoors for a breath of fresh air, his footsteps dogged her. If she would be knelt over scrubbing the floors, his dark shadow would fall on her. The light heart which nature had given her would become sad with forebodings. The other slaves in her Master’s house noticed everything. Many of them had pitied her, but none dared to ask the cause. They knew too well the guilty practices under that roof; and they were aware that to speak of them was an offence that never went unpunished.

In any case, Grace knew there was no shadow of law to protect her from insults, from violence, even death. Her Mistress had no other feelings towards Grace but those of jealously or rage. Even so it was the only home she had known. She could not live in the fragments of happier times in her childhood memories. They could not clothe her, or feed her, to provide her with shelter, and protection, even if it was as another’s property.

Where would she go? She was too afraid to return to her Master and even though the women named Katrina had saved her; promised her she should be safe in a new situation. Grace was still wary to trust again. Katrina appeared powerful, Grace had felt her strong presence. But what did a slave know of witches and their sorcery. The townsfolk had captured a powerful witch only last night. Now it may well be that by her Masters benevolence. Grace will be burnt at the stake with that wretch. She felt a cold hand clutch her heart in panic. How can a mere Quaker help her? Can she help her escape… but then where would she go? Maybe all was not forsaken. Maybe there was a way of escape from persecution. She would kneel before her Master, tell him she would bear anything, do anything in hopes of obtaining his forgiveness. There could still be hope, Grace thought desperately.

Grace didn’t know when she became aware that she wasn’t alone. It was almost like a minute there was no one there, the next a black shadow, fully formed hovered out there, beside the dirty high raised window. Not outside looking in, or in front of the daylight coming through the windows. But in the darkened corner, where the sunlight strangely did not touch. A black outline of a women, too misty and vague to see in detail.

Grace caught her breath as her eyes locked onto hers. Her mind shut down all thoughts, rendering other functions impossible and stilling her body in fear. She skittered on the surface, flickering to and fro like a candle struggling in the wind. Then she heard it speak.

“Grace,” she heard, loud and clear. It was real. “Grace...”

Grace jumped, startled as a sudden flash of crimson dashed the corner of her eye.

“Are you all right” Katrina asked, looking at her in concern.

“Oh miss… good gracious.” Said Grace, shaking her head vehemently. “There was something, a shadow… over there,” she pointed towards the clear space near the bright window.

Katrina looked towards where Grace was pointing. She saw nothing, sensed nothing untoward. She felt Grace grab her arm and looked down at her shaken friend. Fear was etched on her face, her small frame trembling. She sat beside her. She could have told her again that she was safe and had nothing to fear but Katrina knew from the life Grace had led, that words would be of no comfort. Better the deed would quell her fears more.

“I think it’s time we went back to your room,” she said, stopping her before she could protest. “There is something you need to hear, and then pack your belongings. You are leaving by the last coach tonight.”

“But the Master.”

“Yes, he is still there. He’s waiting for you.”

Ice water twisted inside Grace, sinking like an anchor into the pit of her stomach. She looked at Katrina, trying to read into her meaning. For she could not mean what she had heard.

“Grace, whatever your thinking is wrong. You can trust me.”

She never wanted to believe someone more than the women standing beside her, vibrant in warm and reassurance as right now. Since they had met, all she had done was aid and comfort her. Besides… in her present situation, it was not the worst option to take. Grace took a deep, shaky breath, then raised her head.

“I will go with you miss.”

“Katrina…” she softly reminded her. Linking their arms, they walked together, back to the servant’s corridor once again.

 

* * *

 

Ichabod had the understanding that his heart would soon fly out from his chest if it did not stop beating so wildly as he made his way to Katrina’s bed chamber. She had been in his thoughts more in these last few hours than their imperative first meeting. It was making him delirious.

He turned the corner which would have led him to his desired destination, then stopped dumbfound. This corridor was not familiar, that is, it was the same as the one he had pasted through early this morning. Yet there was something different about it. It seems longer, like it would go on forever, and there was something in the air. Ichabod inhaled deep, trying to identify it. It smelled of rain and rot. Gravity seemed to shift beneath his feet as the corridor stretched out before him. He could see Katrina’s chamber door but the more Ichabod stared at it, the further it appeared to fall into abyss.

Falling against the wall, he lowered himself into a sitting position. Ichabod bowed his head and with his hands buried in his hair, cradling his skull as the extreme pain, imploded. He heard a faint tapping and marvelled how his heart could beat calmly while his nerves were at shattering point. Then felt a touch as light as a feather but a fierce sting like a bee, on his hand. It made him jerk his head back hard enough to smack the wall, causing fresh agony.

“Are you in pain… Sir? I’m sorry, is there anything I can do?” came a very impartial, almost bored tone of voice.

Ichabod slowly stood up. Staggering with sudden weakness he leant heavily against the wall behind him. Every movement caused a painful pressure inside his skull, making him want to vomit violently. He gasped for air trying to speak and tried to focus on the blurred vision in front of him.

“Yes…. Thank you...” His vision cleared to see a young women stand before him. “Thank you, madam. I assure you I am well.” He flustered trying to find reason. “The air in here is… err… perhaps if you opened a window or two.”

“There are no windows on this corridor, Sir.”

Her manner of expression was sharply indifferent for Ichabod to overlook. Trying his best to ignoring the pain, he gave the women his full attention. It was then he realised she was not a maid. Her attire was not of a servient woman. She was a very delicate looking women, petite with a ballerina’s figure. Her dark brown hair, almost black framed her incredibility pale face. She had a small but cute nose and strong cheekbones. Her long black gown was covered with what could only be described as the finest lace that only the wealthy were privileged with. Though the darkness of her gown only illuminated her pale skin, it was her eyes that unsettled Ichabod. leering, pale green eyes that left him speechless. Eyes that told him, ‘I will find your deepest fears and destroy you.’ They pierced into his mind.

“I must go...” He whispered.

“Go where.” She asked.

“Beg your pardon, madam.” He asked dazed. The pain in his head had eased and was now it was growing hollow by the second. But he could not look away.

“Where are you going?... Captain Crane.”

“I… I’m…” Those eyes. Was it his imagination or were the pupils growing smaller?

“Your lost Captain…”

“I am… yes.” He was confused, drowsy and he wanted to wake up. Nothing was making any sense.

“Let me help you Captain.” She smiled. But it was not reassuring or supportive.

“You cannot see your Lady. Tis bad luck. You must go directly to the church.” She smiled again, this time revealing sharp fang like teeth. “You must go by the woodland path. Mind though you do not lose, Captain. The path I mean.”

Somewhere in the back of Ichabod’s mind was a weak sound of alarm but the pull of those eyes were stronger.

“Thank you Madam” He said with a weak smile. Ichabod tried to move, he knew he had to at least give a courteous bow, but felt rooted to the spot. He had not been excused yet.

There was a whisper near his ear and it immediately made him jump, forcing him out of his trance. Yet the whisper had not come from the women standing in front of him. She remained watchful in her strange manner. Her eyes were no different than any other eyes. Whatever made him imagine they were bewitched, he thought baffled, and who was the whisperer, what did they mean….

Fallyn acknowledged his bow with smile and watched as the good Captain hurried along, no doubt in the direction of the forest opening, the longest road to the church. Where her sisters lay in wait. Fallyn’s eyes gleamed in malice. Had anyone been unfortunate to have seen her expression, a twisted sense of pleasure, it would have made their blood run cold.

 

* * *

 

Katrina was trying hard to keep the smile of satisfaction off her face, to curb her glee. Lately she had been becoming more confident in herself and her abilities. She wouldn’t shy away from anything now like she would have done months previously but too much buoyant was not worthy either. However, seeing the utter bewildered expression on Grace’s face was a moment to cherish. Seeing the pitiless Master who’d plagued her whole existence, kneel before her begging her forgiveness, was too much for the sweet angel to bare. She stood motionless, not a tremble from that small figure; eyes wide, her delicate high cheekbones more pronounced than ever. Katrina suspected Grace wasn’t even aware of what he was saying to her, much less realise her hand was grasped in his. Katrina wanted Grace to hear what Stewart had to say. She wanted this moment to become the recollection Grace would turn to for courage and hope; a beginning.

She walked up behind her and placed the palm of her hand on the small of Grace’s back and gently inserted warmth to thaw her chilled veins. “Breathe…” she whispered into Grace’s ear.

Grace welcomed the heat and the soothing voice that followed it. After the turmoil her emotions had taken since the morning, she wasn’t sure what was the truth. She tried hard to focus on the Master. Who sported a puffy eye, a cut bruised lip, maybe a couple of broken ribs judging by how he was cradling his arm on his left. Grace was hearing his words but the world around him was swaying. She stood looking at him with a bewildered air. Was he really asking for her pardon for the suffering he had caused her?

“You may hate me; good god you have every reason too. But let me assure you, I hate myself more than you can ever imagine. I will never forgive myself for what I have done to you. I need you to know that I would beg your forgiveness, if I thought it would earn me even a little. There is nothing I can do. I know this.”

Katrina heard Grace take a sharp intake of air and moved to end this. She moved to stand beside Grace, putting an arm around her shoulder. Before she could intervene, Grace sucked in another breathe and snatched her hand from his grasp. After a brief pause she spoke.

“I want my freedom.” She whispered. Panting, her voice growing firmer as she continued. “You will give me my freedom. You will never command me, never ask or receive from me. I will leave today and you will henceforth have no communication with me. If I ever see your vile presence near me or hear your odious name…” Her anger was clawing to break loose.

Suspecting what was coming Katrina leaned forward and grabbed his face, forcing him to meet her eyes. She had already forced a compulsion on him earlier while Grace rested in the Kitchen. She had tried to alter his nature, force some humanity to touch him. But the man was beyond salvation and Katrina loathed to admit that to herself. Surely everyone was redeemable. Nevertheless, she was not sure how long the spell would hold.

“ _Take heed and leave._ ” She imprinted into his mind. Compulsion had to be forced on to a soul. Once the door to the mind had been opened it was easy to change the thoughts of a person, just not their nature, and a very painful process to them. His eyes widened in response. Katrina closed her eyes and concentrated in drawing a small quantity of energy and stirred it inside him, healing his wounds.

“ _Leave._ ” It was softly spoken but a command nevertheless. Katrina gave a sigh of relief as she watched him hoist himself up and stagger out of the room. She closed the door behind him and leant her back towards it and waited for what was to come.

Grace had not moved from her position. Her arm was still raised from when she had wrenched it from her former Master. Silence enclosed the room. Katrina strolled toward her and gently lowered her arm. Just as suddenly Grace collapsed, falling against Katrina. She was overwhelmed with anger, pain and shock. She sobbed but failed to identity the rage-filed shrieks as her own. Grace tried desperately to break free from Katrina’s strong embrace. She keeled over on the floor, taking Katrina with her and scratched, clawed the ground uselessly. She felt as if she was losing all sense of reality as she reacted to all that had happened.

Grace wanted to kill her _former_ Master, but he had already walked out the room, which fuelled her agony in the worst way. Katrina understood. Stewart should have bared his throat for Grace to tear though, living flesh in search of retribution. She was feeling hate in a new way, and Katrina knew that Grace had never truly hated before.

Through Grace’s rage and Katrina’s witchery, a power rose like a sudden storm between them. One wanted to cause harm. The other wanted to protect. Grace fought against Katrina, but she held tight. The power consumed like lightening in her chest. Grace lashed out with a good right hook, and they both stopped grappling and stared at one another. Blood welled up from a cut on Katrina’s lip and Grace felt ashamed.

“Katrina, I’m sorry. I don’t know how to control this.”

Grace’s words were inaudible to her but Katrina nodded in understanding. “Go ahead. Let it out. I’m here. I won’t leave you.”

Tears rolled down Grace’s face. She was spent. The sight of the blood on her friend’s face quelled the storm that than threatened to burst. She shook her head in defeat.

“Anger is better let out.” Katrina reassured her, licking her cut lip. “It’s no good festering inside of you. It clouds the mind, prevents focus.”

Grace sat staring at the wall, letting the words sink in. She had no energy for another outburst. “And now.”

Katrina stood up, patting her gown clear of dust caught from the floor. Grace watched as she walked over to an old chest, by the side of the bed and began to pack it with gowns from the wardrobe. Understanding her meaning Grace raised herself, took a moment to take air into her lungs and then commenced to help.

“Now you go to my room and try to get some sleep.” Katrina told her. “You have a coach to take tonight and it is a long night’s journey to Fredericks Manor.”

“Where?”

“I promised you a new situation and teacher. Fredericks Manor is your new situation and the Lachlan Fredericks is your new teacher.”

Grace stole a glance at her. “Teacher...not Master?

“You’re a free woman now Grace.” She remained her. “Your free to go wherever you want…. What!” Katrina abruptly asked in concern, seeing Grace’s eyes widen with shock.

“Papers,” she gasped, “He didn’t give me my papers. Without them I’m still…”

Katrina reassured her with a smile before walking over to the window ledge, producing an envelope and purse. She placed them both into Grace’s hands.

“I would say this is your parting gift, but it isn’t. This is your rightful property.”

Grace opened the envelope. Her hands trembled as she looked down at her _Free Papers_ , signed and legally bounding. The light of hope had now turned into a shining beacon. She held in her hands the finale proof. The blessed prospect of freedom. Grace grabbed Katrina and danced around the room in laughter. They skipped about like their feet had grown wings.

“Come,” Katrina said laughed. Grace grinning, realised the purse in her hand. She opened and gasped.

“It really is a day of shocks for you isn’t it.” amused Katrina.

“Is this all mine.”

“Your wages,” she nodded. “From the moment you came into that home, till today. The day you leave.”

Grace looked down at the expensive purse again and giggled, in the most adorable girlish way Katrina had ever heard. “I won’t ask how you did this.” They picked up chest together and started for the door. “But I can’t wait to learn how it was done.”

“Which reminds me. Where did you learn to read?” asked Katrina.

“Ms Blake, the children’s governess.” Grace smiled at her memory. “When the house slept, we would secretly meet. Sometimes in the kitchen, sometimes in the garden. First she taught me to spell and read. Then she would hide books around the garden for me to find.” It was a privilege, which so rarely falls to the lot of a slave, one for which Grace blessed her memory for.

“Well Lachlan has a vast library. You’ll have no need to hide books in the grounds.”

“Really,” Grace’s eyes gleamed at her.

“You will be very happy there.”

“Will you come to visit.”

“Oh, frequently and often.” She laughed. “Now kindly lift from your end, I feel I’m taking all this weight.”

“I’m trying,” replied Grace. Both women giggled like schoolgirls as they tried to navigate the heavy load across the court.

 

* * *

 

 The minute Ichabod stepped foot into the forest, he knew there was something very wrong about it. The forest didn’t look so big when he had passed it on horseback or coach, but when you went in to it, there were so many trees and hills. It was a bright and beautiful day. But even the sunlight was reluctant to pass through these woods.

_“So she loves you… like she loved Abraham?”_ Not for the first time Ichabod shook his head, trying to throw off the infernal murmur. The whispers had persisted. Followed him like his shadow. It must have been placed there because he refused to contemplate those being his doubts.

Demons and the powers they wielded were new to him but he had seen their true face. They lurked amongst the innocent doing their harm the most. One must have targeted him without his comprehending. He had no doubts, Ichabod thought, touching the indent on his chest pocket to feel the rings placed there. He loved Katrina and wanted her as his wife. “ _…like she loved Abraham?_ ”

“Enough!” He yelled to nothing, desperately.

Ichabod closed his eyes and concentrated on regaining his composure. Then felt an odd sense of _déjà vu._ He suddenly didn’t feel alone. His whispers where not the only thing with him. He knew it for sure.

“Hello?” He asked

An unexpected gust of wind swayed the trees. It almost looked as if they were talking to one another, or letting something know of his presence amongst them.

“I mean no harm, please show yourself.”

There was nothing. As suddenly as it had appeared. It vanished, there was no sound, not even the talking trees. But he felt something on the back of his neck and darted out of the way and looked around to see nothing. A hot breath, he though, that was what he had felt on his neck. Like a butterfly touch of a ghost breathing hot on his neck.

“I can’t have this right now.” He sighed and said to himself. “I can’t deal with demons and ghost, not all at the same time, and not today.”

Then it was there again. This time he could hear something, leaves rustling underfoot, little scraping noises. Ichabod looked around the dark forest, trying to pinpoint where the rustle was coming from and when his eyes found the source a new level of fear hit him. A knife was pulling itself out of the holder. He immediately drove to the ground, narrowly avoiding the knife.

“What do you want?” Ichabod’s eyes travelled to the knife, which had embedded itself on a bark above his head. “Whose there… Whose goes there?” he demanded.

Ichabod felt a presence behind him and slowly turned. A small figured emerged from the shadows of the trees and he flinched. He cursed himself for that frightened reaction. She stood there. Dressed in all black. Her dark hair had an ethereal glow. Eyes the colour of pale orange sunset stared down at him. If it was not for the eyes, Ichabod would have assumed the women from the inn had followed him.  

“Did I frighten you?” She said.

“No!” He lied.

“Did I hurt you?” She said.

“No!” He was growing irritated with this woman and his own inadequacy.

She waited patiently until he was steady on his feet. Then gave him a nod and the briefest of smiles. It wasn’t exactly friendly, but before he could ask, she walked passed him and retrieved her knife. Ichabod was still flustered but he felt he should say something.

“Madam, I do believe you owe me an apology.”

Her eyes widened, “I beg your pardon!” she asked bemused.

“Ah, apology accepted.” He hurried on. Ichabod placed his hands behind his back and standing tall to his full height, very aware of that the stranger could handle a knife.

“Now, madam you should not be alone at this time in the woods. Please may I escort you to your party, or home?”

After a brief paused were she observed him without blinking an eye. “I am home,” she said. She moved and circled him like a lioness circles her prey. Her eyes looked dead, and yet intense at the same time.

“Ah.” Was all Ichabod could muster. He had never been good at reading women, but today there were two, moments apart, the most incomprehensible creatures of the opposite sex he had the misfortune to meet. Ichabod searched his mind for a decent excuse to make that wouldn’t aggravate the women with the knife, when she stopped inspecting him like a specimen and stood to face him.

“Might I inquire what a finely dressed gentlemen is doing walking, alone, in the forest.”

“I might inquire the same, madam, of you. These woods are no place for a lady on her own.”

“I am quite able of defend myself,” pushing aside her dark cloak to show the knife sheath.

“As I see,” clearing his throat like a fool. “Even so madam at least let me….”

“Where are you going?” She interrupted.

Ichabod paused. Good lord what time was it? He must be getting late, what if Katrina was already there… waiting. He couldn’t bare to contemplate what she must be thinking of his absence.

“Towards the church. I am to marry today.” Despite his urgency, Ichabod couldn’t help the proud smile creep onto his face. He loathed to leave the women alone in the woodlands but, “So if you will excuse me… Madam.” He took a bow and turned to leave.

“Captain… Do you trust her?”

Ichabod turned back to stare at her questioningly. What did she say?

“Do you trust her?” She repeated, talking slowly as if speaking to an imbecile.

His brows furrowed as he looked into her eyes. He had an awful feeling, he knew what was going to come next. Then the sharp jab of pain struck inside his skull. It was excruciating, more than before. He clutched his head and for the umps time sank to his knees.

Fire pulsed in his skull, forcing a heat to raise through him. Ichabod could vaguely sense the women move closer towards him, her voice seeping into his thoughts. He had a sense of being utterly vulnerable, naked to exposure. Weapons… he had none on his person and despite his state, Ichabod detested to strike a woman. But it was her, either demon or a witch. He was sure this was her doing.

Ichabod looked up, pleading in his eyes only to be captured by the orange fire in her eyes. Then just as it had appeared, the pain began to ease slowing into a distance throbbing.

“ _So she loves you… like she loved Abraham?_ ” The whispers, when had they stopped? Why come back now? Ichabod didn’t think he cared. The whispers had brought back the drowsiness. It was a relief from the pain. He knew what would follow and waited.

“Run along to the church Captain. But go by the river, await by the bridge.” Her voice reached him before she did. He didn’t even see her move. The flames blazing in her eyes were the only thing he could focus on. But he felt the bee sting on the left side of his face. Like she was lovingly holding his chin.

“ _So she loves you… like she loved Abraham. Do you trust her… Quaker or Spy?_ ”

Her lips didn’t move, but then the whispers did not sound like they had come from her. Ichabod waited until she disappeared. How he wasn’t sure. She was there, then gone. Ichabod gave a sigh of relief.

“ _Do you trust her… Quaker or Spy?_ ”

Ichabod stood up on shaky legs. He reached out for the nearest tree to steady himself. Took a long moment to compose. It was too late to return for his weapons. Katrina would have already set off for the church. She would be safe on holy ground. Ichabod would go through the forest and by the time he reached the bridge by the river. I will be ready, he thought. Ichabod looked around him and saw the mark left by the knife on the bark, then set off deeper into the forest.

 

Pandra watched him walked away, with his chin in the air, in gesture of defiance no less, she amused.

“Did he really have the audacity to demand an apology.” Fallyn asked, coming up from behind her.

“If he had demanded, he’d be crawling his way towards the bridge,” she said.

“Why the bridge?”

“Josanna.” It was all Pandra needed to say for Fallyn to give a knowing smile in return.

 

* * *

 

 Slipping into the prison where Serilda was held was no huge achievement. Hundreds of people from the neighbouring towns had flocked to see the witch trial, were no doubt a witch will be burnt in the end. Katrina moved through the crowd with purpose. It was the only way to avoid appearing insecure… which she wasn’t. she was determined. But someone should really explain that to the butterflies in her stomach.

Grace was safely tucked in Katrina’s bed. She had protested to rest, breathing freedom for the first time in her young life was to intoxicating and Katrina thought to put her under a gentle sleep spell. Only one too many shocks in a matter of a few hours had also taken its toll. She fell asleep as soon as her head rested the pillow and Katrina made sure to place a hex on the windows and door before she left her to slumber.

Now before she had anymore interruptions Katrina knew she _needed_ to see Serilda, before the trial. There were things they needed to discuss. This should be the High Priestess’s charge but she was not here and Katrina was confident she wouldn’t mind her taking duty in her absence. She took her down last night. Katrina was confident she could take her again if need be. She still had to find Mrs Combs. The children’s mother had sent word for Katrina to see her. She knew to keep up the pretence of the family nurse, she should be taking her responsibilities seriously. But the urge to speak to Serilda was like fear mingled with excitement wrapped like a coil inside her belly. This had to come first. Straightening her shoulders, she sauntered towards the inner cells, the crowd outside seemed to be growing in noise.

Her simple nurses garment attracted attention. Her self-confidence loved the boost. Katrina couldn’t help but preen a little. There was something to be said about wearing clothes to show off her figure. Katrina sensed male assessment, and their approval.

Katrina had never thought about having a man. She just never seemed to have the time or the inclination. Still, the obviously appreciative male glances were fun, brought colour to her cheeks.

“Hello there.”

Katrina turned, startled when a young man grabbed her arm to stop her headlong rush towards the back of the cells. She looked at his grip, raised a haughty eyebrow and stared him down.

He flushed and stepped back, apologising. “Sorry miss. Didn’t mean to grab you like that. I just wanted to stop you racing off to the witch.” The youth flushed, giving her a shy approval look. “She’s killed young ladies such as yourself. You shouldn’t be near her.”

“My presence was requested,” she replied. Giving him a small smile, she turned to see if they were alone. She could see the Council members gathering far in the distance. Magistrate Combs leading them into the Council chambers and the heavy doors closed behind them. Two guards held position on either side of the doors.

Katrina didn’t know how long she would have with Serilda before she was taken to face her trial. She had to get in her cell fast.

She placed a hand on the young man’s arm and gave him her most radiant smile. “I just have to tend on her injuries. To make sure she is well enough to stand trial.”

The youth snorted, “She doesn’t stand a chance, miss. She’s going to burn anyway, no point bandaging her up.”

“Bandaging her up.” She didn’t like the sound of that. Serilda was knocked out by the time the villagers had appeared and Katrina was the one to sustain most of the injuries in their battle. So what were the bandages for?

“Nevertheless I need to see her,” she replied, her tone slightly hard which the young man picked up. He flushed again and with a bow of his head, moved to let her pass. When he tried to follow her she gave him another glare. One which he made him stop in his tracks.

“I’ll wait for you here miss,” he said. Katrina was aware of his gaze following her as she walked down the cells.

There were no guards, strangely enough. Katrina found the cell through the multiple crucifixes and incense, along with the key, hung outside the heavy iron door. They held no magical value. The holy crucifixes were not even blessed. Without it they were just pretty ornaments giving false hope.

She called forth just enough power to probe the room within. Too much burst of energy would give Serilda sufficient strength to drain the earth like she had done last night. But it was odd. She felt nothing. Had she not recovered or was she laying a trap for her.

She was losing time, Katrina thought. She grabbed the key and opened the door without pause to think. It was dark inside the cell, the iron barred window had been blocked from the outside. Light still manage to seep through small cracks. It smelled damp and wet. Katrina screwed up her face, she had never seen such an appalling room, even for a prison. Sound of chains rattling made her turn. She stared in to a corner of darkness until suddenly a face appeared, illuminated by a small ray of light. The sight of her made Katrina’s blood run cold.

She was shackled by the ankles. They had beaten her up badly. Dried blood splattered on her torn clothing, and one side of her face was bruised and swollen. One of her eyes was purple. Long angry gashes covered all over her arms and legs. She was matted with blood and dirt; Katrina could barely recognise her. An if she hadn’t spoken, she would have believed she had entered the wrong cell.

“Katrina Van Tassel…” It was as if she was talking through sharp glass. “I was wondering when you were going to show yourself… witch!” She hissed the last word.

Katrina braced herself and walked into Serilda prison cell. Closing the door behind her.


	7. Chapter 7

Her girth seemed to be expanding more every day. At 4 months her skin was stretched taunt over. Clothes fell in folds around the bump on her stomach. She spread her hands around it, cradling it like she would the baby within. It was larger than she expected, about the size of a watermelon. Her entire body was slightly swollen as well. Her hands and feet especially. Her corset already straining with the tightened strings.

This was a secret. Her secret with him, her midnight lover, and it had been easier to hide than she had first thought. Her skin was not as radiant as you’d expect from an expectant woman. She had complaint away the cold like symptoms every morning and that her sickness due to the ungodliness that was plaguing their home. ‘And he had believed her, the silly man,’ she thought. Unlike her midnight lover. The thought of him sent shivers up her spine. She closed her eyes and envisaged the purr in his resonant voice. His dulcet tones embracing her wanton body like the evening perfume of night flowers. She could feel the hot blush that spread across her cheeks and tried to control her breathing. Hasty from the tingling sensation growing between her legs.

The woman closed her eyes, and inhaled. compelling the small, plump, crooked nosed preacher’s irritating voice to break through her lover’s trance. Forcing her to pay attention to his empty sermons. She listened from her pew to the preacher from the pulpit in the south transept – eight sided like the baptismal font. Gilt letters shone under its book rest: “Feare God, Honour thy Kynge 1 Pet 2.” She wondered which of these the townsfolk considered more important.

It was all futile anyway. They will never stop what they don’t see unfolding in front of their eyes. Not this imbecile, with his phoney lectures, or that pitiful excuse of a husband the fates had landed her with. The days and nights she had prayed. On bended knees and with all her heart, she had prayed to be set free from this droll existence. But no answers came. Instead life strained her by the chains with a dissatisfying man and his repulsive advances. Bolted down by two equally disappointing offspring. She could love neither of them no matter how hard she tried.

No… it was not God that answered her prayers but a stranger, one moon filled night. A brief kiss that changed her life with exhilarating wonder and hope. In the velvet darkness away from prying eyes, his lips descended upon hers. She had melted into him, tasting a faint bittersweet flavour on his lips as he deepened the kiss, His tongue had plunged into her mouth, his teeth nipping at her bottom lip, teasing her until she was trembling with desire in his arms.

After that night, she lived in a haze of carnal pleasure. It was this such night her sweet lover had given her the greatest of gifts. All he had asked was that she make a small sacrifice. It was no sacrifice on her part. She would gladly do as he commanded. She loved him with every ounce of herself. She touched her swollen belly again in a gentle caress.

“…. But to do good and to communicate forget not: for with such sacrifices God is well pleased…” The preacher carried on his oration and she smiled gracefully. Yes… tonight.

 

* * *

 

 

Katrina needed to break this silence. If not for herself, then for Serilda. She may be a wicked bitch but she was still a witch, and Katrina’s earth sister.

“May I tend to your wounds?” she tentatively asked. Making no moves towards her.

“Don’t you like it,” she gave a crooked smile, the inside of her lips red with dried blood. “I wear the colours of your deceit.”

That stung

“Not mine Serilda, your own. You turned against your own kind, polluted yourself with blood magic…”

“You think you have all the answers don’t you?”

“Not all. I still have questions.”

“Is that why you have come? What gives you the right? You are no better than me.”

“We shall see. I do not hurt others for _my_ gain.” Katrina jumped back, narrowly avoiding the filthy woman lunging at her. Serilda’s attempt at a laugh came out in a croak of blood splattered coughs. Katrina’s compassion won over.

Her head tipped back against the cell wall, so it was clear to see the startling dark bruises wrapped around her throat, which considering the rest of her appearance was easily concealed. They formed a perfect imprint of two long-fingered hands that must have seized her from behind. Katrina inspected the cell again. In the far corner, a mass of maggot’s writhed on a heap of something that stank enough to choke her. She found a bucket covered in filth left by rodents. The contents were perilous but nothing that was not manageable for a witch. She dipped and drew some filthy water into her cupped hands.

“ _Perpurigo…_ ” Whoosh… blue flame lit in her palms. She poured the cleansed water back into the bucket. The flame briefly kindled then vanished in a puff of smoke. Katrina reached into her pocket and took out a piece of cloth. She soaked in the water and knelt beside Serlida to gently wipe the blood from her face, whose eyes never left. She swabbed gently to not be the cause of more pain but in the back of her mind, a thought sprung that had she not taken away Serilda’s powers completely, she could easily have managed to gain clean water for herself. The captive’s earlier jibe still stung. So Katrina reasoned with herself that with powers, Serilda was dangerous. She, herself, did nothing wrong…

“I know you have been conspiring with Lieutenant Tarleton,” she began. “Why do you remain in Sleepy Hollow... what are you plotting?”

Stubborn silence. Yet the stare, deadly as ever seemed to move past Katrina to settle on the wall behind her. She turned to look… Nothing. Turned back to find Serilda smiling condescendingly at her.

“Answer me!” … running out of patience. “Your time draws nearer. Only I stand between you and pyre. Tell me why your Coven lingers in Sleepy Hollow. Absolve yourself Serilda.”

“Do you know what your hindrance is?” she said after a moment silence, “You lack vision. You are not seeing it are you?” … again the glance towards the wall. “We are soldiers in a war that has been raging since humans first walked the earth. Our kind is more gifted, more worthy of the mantle. Yet we hide our abilities; fear that our children will be judged. We stand helpless as our sisters are burnt at the stake for a lesser God; unable to love, to live, to breathe… No more.” Her eyes glistened as the last words were wrenched out from her. “These pathetic mortals think they are above the laws of nature. They twist their holy scriptures for their own malevolent ends; conquer our lands with blood, rip us apart from our loved ones, defile our bodies for their amusement,” … she was shaking with rage. So much so, that even without her powers, her anger filled the air like the rancid pile covered in maggots by the corner.

Katrina shook her head. “And you seek to stop them?”

“Yes… only I no longer seek. I have found _him_.” Her eyes, still baring the mark of unshed eyes, now glowed in malicious brightness.

A cold fear spread through Katrina’s veins. Could she mean… No, he was safe, his identity hidden.

“What are you talking about?” She asked her.

Without warning, she lunged forward again, this time seizing Katrina by the neck. With one hand around her throat, she used the other to grab a handful of crimson hair and pulled hard enough to make Katrina gasp in pain. The spiteful witch hissed, baring canines ready to strike. Just as suddenly she let go and dropped to the ground, wincing in pain as healing cuts reopened, drawing blood.

Shaken, Katrina had reached her the end of her patience. With a flick of her wrist, a swirling blue and gold orb exploded against the fallen witch and showered colourful sparks overhead. A grinned spread across her face as Serilda cried out in pain.

“Maybe you once had a heart,” said Katrina. “But you are all poison now. I give you no sympathy, like you gave none to the soldiers you burnt alive for the Hessians.” Drawing a blinding orb in her raised hand, Katrina moved towards Serilda in a threatening manner. Feeling nothing as the injured witch tried to cower from the light.

“Soldiers are bred to die,” she spat out.

“You will not win. I will find out your plan and stop it. You’ve lost this battle Serilda.”

Giving her one last look Katrina rose and turned to leave. She had her hand on the iron door when she heard Serilda whisper, “You think your so clever, but you know nothing. Soon enough everything you know will be gone…hell is coming,” she laughed. “Hell is coming and you _can’t_ stop it.”

Katrina locked the door behind her and placed the key back in its place. A hex laid on the door, Katrina walked away to Serilda’s last words addressed to an empty space… “ _Remember that…”_

 

* * *

 

 

_“Do you trust her… Quaker or Spy?”_

Ichabod stood high on the Craven Bridge, leaning over the water. He stared into the turbulent river far below and imagined the sensation of falling, flying through the air, as light as a bird for an instant, before the water slammed into his body and drove the air out of his lungs.

It was a strange thought for a man who was, a few hours ago, eager in the prospect to being wed. He still was, only now the next few hours would determine whether that prospect would come to fruition. The day was travelling slowly and the forest stretched to the never ending horizon. But he was brought here for a reason. It was all confusing, and painful to think hard on his predicament. But of two things he was certain. One, while he was here the woman he loved was safe, and two, this was his duty to bear not Katrina’s.

A noise made him turn to see a lone figure walk on the bridge. She was cloaked in all black but he could see she was a young woman. Ichabod braced himself. He griped his weapon, a long sturdy branch. It was a pathetic object and no doubt if his regiment were to see him now, brandishing a stick like a caveman against a feeble looking women, they would fall on their bellies laughing, but it was all he had. Ichabod knew now that he had no defence if she went for hi mind; planting poisonous thoughts, but when he had a moment, that moment will be his to strike.

She wore an expression of amusement; angelic looking, with devilish burning eyes.

“Fool,” she hissed unexpectedly. “Do you realise how pitiful you look Captain.”

 _So we were not pretending anymore_. Ichabod brought the branch forward, a shield between them. “Attack me,” he said, ready.

“You know there are real swords. Waving that twig at a witch is really quite insulting.”

“Just attack me.”

She shrugged. “If you insist.”

Ichabod lunged forward, aiming at her midsection, but she neatly sidestepped his advance, parried the branch with a blue flame governed by a flick of her wrist, she broke it, before redirecting the branch towards his neck where it stopped inches from him.

“Again,” she said, a playful look on her face.

He came at her again, trying to strike her from a downward angle. He was amazed and a bit annoyed that she effortlessly avoided every blow, before slicing the branch across his stomach.

“Footwork,” she said, reading his expression. Then with another flick of her wrist, she unbalanced him with the branch in his hand. Pain erupted on his side and head as he hit the ground, but he still managed to put some space between the and quickly sprung to his feet. She followed suit, circling back to give him room. She was getting ready for her next attack.

“What do you want from me?” he said. Words…words were his best distraction. The other two she-devils had let him be once they played with his mind. He needed a distraction. He need to get to the other side of the bridge. “Why do you want to kill me?”

“Kill you,” she said genuinely perplexed. “This isn’t about wanting you dead Captain. This is a test.”

“Test for what?” He began to take tentative steps towards the other side.

“To see what composes you. What aims you,” she said. Circling him to keep their distance. “They say you are many things.” Her eye glared their unholy light. “The deliverer, saviour… The watcher.”

“I am none of those. You’ve made grave mistake… Madam.” He was almost there. If he ran now, he could make it past to the other side.

“Evidently,” she said raising an eyebrow at his attempt to evade her. “Do you know they say it is a mystery why the primitive man came down from the trees. But I suspect if they were anything like you the buffoons fell down.”

He needed to run, to escape this witch. Desperation was chomping at his brain. Any instrument he found was useless against her. He was too vulnerable hidden here. In his experience demons did not show themselves in crowds. That was his only salvation. He charged forward to the other side, only to fall flat on his face. Something was clamped around his ankle. A small circle of burning lights formed a chain around his foot. His panicked gaze followed to where she was holding the other end like a whip.

“What is the rush?” she asked, laughing. “Don’t you like my company?”

“This is unfair.” Something snapped inside him. “You say you are not going to kill me. But you test me with unfair disadvantage.” He came to his knees and stared at her. “You have spells and trickery. You give me nothing with which to defend myself. Give me a weapon. Judge me then!” he shouted slapping the hand against his chest. “Only cowards attack an unarmed man.”

The chains vanished in a puff of smoke. Ichabod stood facing her. They stared each other down. Anger burned in both their eyes.

If this was a fight, then he will fight till the end, he though. It was building inside him, rattling around his body, setting his teeth on edge. He wanted to scream, to throw his head back and bellow out his anger, to purge it like a poison. “Give me a weapon,” he repeated though gritted teeth.

He took a step towards her. To his amazement she took a step back. But it was not out of fear. The anger still blazed in her fiery green eyes… No the retreat was out of caution. He was sure of it.

That amused smile reappeared. Ichabod watched as she slowly moved her cloak to reveal two sheaths attached to her dress. One on either side. She pulled out a dagger with what looked like a bone handle and throw it on the ground towards him. “Your weapon Captain.”

He did not pick up the dagger immediately. Instead Ichabod watched her lower her head. Closing her eyes, she stretches out her arms, her wrists weaved, with her fingers clawed. Black smoke emerged from the ground to form on either side. Twirling and twisting to the rhythm of her hands. Horror struck him. She was conjuring demons, and though his experience with them was thankfully limited, it has never been a pleasant one.

Before his eyes Ichabod saw two beastly figures, black, scaly skinned demons with glowing red eyes and two horns that curved over their heads and down their backs. They snarled at him, baring their huge pointed teeth. They pawed at the ground, raking their sharp talons on the ground, carving the wood, eager to be set free. The witch glance at Ichabod, “Now fight… or run!” she says lowering her arms, realising the hellhounds.

Without a second thought, Ichabod grabbed the dagger and took his defence stance, “I will fight…,” he told the witch. The hellhounds circled him, predators hungry for prey. His free hand touched the pocket, feeling the indent of the rings. He sent out a silent prayer to his beloved.

A low growl was the only warning he received before one pounced with his claws out and jaws open. He landed on his back seized by hellhound, just inches from the witch. The first beast released him, only for the second hellhound whirled to face him. Lifting black lips to expos his rows of wicked, sharp teeth. Its red eyes focused on him.

Ichabod felt something burn in his hand. He quickly glanced down to see the dagger in his grasp emit smoke. It was brief but he was sure the dagger glowed as if the sun had reflected its sharp iron. Only the forest was blocking out the sun’s rays, leaving him isolated. He shot a look at the witch as he scrambled up. She didn’t appear to notice the fleeting occurrence.

The demon sprang. He lifted the dagger, but the beast must have seen it and twisted aside, landing a few feet away. It moved with a speed he could barely follow. It didn’t help that the hellhound all but vanished in the low light, shadow against shadow.

A glint of teeth was his only warning that it had sprung again. He tried to twist to the side, but the beast collided into his chest, knocking him to the ground. He rolled and came up on his knees, the dagger still clutched in his hand. With a grunt, he slammed the dagger down, but missed entirely, burying the blade in the hard wood. He tugged upward, trying to free it when the hound snarled and lashed out.

Ichabod jerked his head back, but a forepaw still caught him across the cheek. Ebony claws raked across his skin from just beneath his right eye to his chin. But it wasn’t the physical pain that caused Ichabod to gasp. It seemed as if the thing had latched onto his very soul and tugged at it. The sensation lasted only for the split-second the claws had penetrated his skin, but he still felt the drain on his strength. Prolonged contact may prove fatal.

He jerked the dagger free just as the second beast lunged again. He brought the blade down, a pitifully small weapon against an animal that stood nearly as tall as his waist. The dagger made contact, though the blur of motion made it impossible to see where. An ear-piercing yelp followed, so Ichabod assumed he had penetrated its skin. He shoved himself to his feet, still a little lightheaded from his brush with the beast’s claws, and tensed for its next attack. Still whimpering, the hellhound stumbled for a few steps then collapsed.

“What…!”

He barely heard the whisper from behind him as the second attack came.

With a fierce snarl the beast pounced, tackling Ichabod to the ground, the force of the blow dropping the dagger from his hand. His blue eyes widened as razor jaws snapped inches from his face. Before the beast had a chance to react, Ichabod plummeted the demon in the face, repeatedly until his knuckles ached. The beast growled, as blood seeped from between his teeth. With a roll, Ichabod throw the demon off him.

The beast hit the side of the ground and quickly jumped on its paws. Locked in its fighting stance, ready to strike again.

“Come on,” Ichabod yelled. Adrenaline surging through him. The beast lunged forward.

The dagger forgotten, Ichabod ducked out of the way, grabbing the creature from behind, he shoved it down and drove his knee up into the its ribs. As the demon stumbled back, Ichabod followed with a hard right hook to its jaw. Crushing the creatures nose beneath his knuckles. Gripping its neck, he twisted, causing a sickening crack to slice through the air. Ichabod released the beast and watched it fall to the ground with a deafening thud.

He slowly stood, ignoring the sharp pain in his side and the stinking from the cuts on his face. He could still see clearly from his wounded eye. He walked over to grab the follow dagger with the sound of clapping Ichabod stood tall and stared at the witch. The earlier amused expression wiped from her face to leave a thoughtful, tight countenance. Even her clapping to his victory seemed forced.

“I congratulate you Captain. Maybe the whispers about you are not so exaggerated after all.”

With bated breath. He said, “It ends… we finish this here _witch._ ” The last he spat out with as much hatred as he could.

A knowing smile crept on her lips.

“You love her, but do you know her.”

“ENOUGH! You will leave her be,” he pointed the dagger straight at her. “She has nothing, knows nothing. Leave her be.”

The witch stared down at the dagger, not in fear but in inspection. Then looked at Ichabod that knowing expression he was beginning to find irritating.

“So she loves you, like she loved Abraham. But do you trust her Captain? She is a Quaker, but she led you to Washington… as what? How involved is she really, to know everything, to have all the answers,” Ichabod raised the dagger in warning as the witch took a few steps too close to him. “Is she really all that innocent?”

With that she vanished, simply faded into the air before his eyes.

Ichabod took deep breaths to steady himself and looked at his surroundings. It was too late to walk back to the tavern. To late speak to Katrina. He had passed 3 witches, this last one being the deadliest so far. Who’s to say how they will react if he was to go back, and how many more he must face ahead. Besides Katrina would have already left for the chapel, he thought. Yes, he needed to speak to her, these wretches may torture him but they all imply to know his beloved… No he must press on ahead. Katrina is safe on holy ground and she will have all the answers he seeks. He touched the pocket baring the rings again, and walked on. The hellhounds disappearing in a scorch of black smoke in his wake.

 

* * *

 

 

Serilda strained against the chains that held her to the floor. The world was crumbled and decayed around her. It reeked of suffering and despair. The bellows of distant voices grow nearer. Head bowed she wiped the tears of frustration, refusing to let those bastards see her weak. She heard the door creak open and braced herself.

A hand, soft and golden, gently cupped her injured jaw and life her face. It was a comforting gesture until the grip tightened painfully. Three guards stood behind the one kneeling in front of her. They showed fear and caution. This one clearly showed neither.

“Poor little wretch, all alone.” He laughed, holding up a rusty iron key, then flinging it to land amongst the maggots. “There, your freedom from your shackles, should you choose to fetch it from your little sisters.”

Serilda calmly looked at him and spoke as firmly as she could muster, “I will kill you slowly and painfully once I’m free.”

“Please,” the guard snorted, examining his nails, “I’ve heard more terrifying threats form the maggots.”

The ones behind him laughed. Feeling brave at a distance.

The guard moved forward. His face so close to Serlida’s that she feared he may try to kiss her. She draw back her lips and hissed. But it didn’t faze him.

“It’s time. You’re going to burn _witch!_ and I’ll be there watching with an ale in hand, raising to your blackened charred face, and a whore after your nothing but ash.”

“She must face the hearing first Sir,” spoke a young, nervous looking guard.

“A performance, that’s all,” he replied, his eyes never leaving Serilda. “She’s still going on the bonfire…”

Smiling, he stood up, “Take her.”

Arms reached out to grab her and despite Serilda’s bounds, she pushed them back. Kicking, clawing, biting, using every physical weapon nature had given her. She hissed and resisted in their holds before one of the guard, she couldn’t see him, but had her suspicion to his identity, draw back his hand and landed it hard on her face. The world fell into blessed oblivion. Serilda could only hope it would remained that way, as they carried her out of her cell, towards the sounds of bellowing crowds.


End file.
